


may our bodies remain

by Imprise



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Depression, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 38,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1319437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imprise/pseuds/Imprise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I found you inside my mind.<br/>I lost you inside my mind.</p><p>After the death of his girlfriend Meg, Castiel Novak recedes deeper into his disordered thoughts. Dean Winchester is a stranger with a few of his own secrets. An unexpected arrangement between the two results in unlikely changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you can't hold it too tight

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. Updates may be irregular.  
> The title is a line from Interpol's Public Pervert.  
> Ana and Mia are personifications of the eating disorders anorexia and bulimia nervosa.  
> While personification of mental illness is used in this fic, it's used for giving the image of having multiple voices screaming in one's head. The similarity to pro-ana and pro-mia language is unintentional and the content of the fic is not pro-eating disorder in the slightest.  
> Castiel's eating disorder is anorexia binge/purge subtype.  
> Some parts may be extremely triggering. Please take care of yourself, you're worth it.

Mom and Gabe are cooking again.

I sigh slowly and rub my left shoulder. It feels far too soft to the touch. A fresh wave of nausea hits me and I drop my hand quickly. Best not dwell on that. Especially not while I can smell food roasting on the stove.

My stomach gives a huge lurch as I realize that the smell is melting butter. I tightly squeeze my middle with my arms, fingers playing over the structure of my ribs, taking short, panting breaths. It kind of works. That is, until one of my thumbs digs into a piece of pudgy flesh.

I suck in my breath and draw away as if stung, determinedly avoiding looking down, where I know fat will have festered like a disease. My arms hang limp and useless at my sides. Of course, they will creep back up to my body in a moment, graze over my collarbones, my hipbones, my cheekbones, my spine. Let me marvel at the beauty. Let me die inside some more.

_It will go. It will all go. Promise, Ana._

Somewhere in my mind, shrouded in shadow, she smiles. A gleam of sharp, white teeth stretch into a grin in the darkness.

 

-

 

Dean turned his fork over and over between his fingers. It caught the kitchen light as it twirled, reflecting patches of white onto the tablecloth in hypnotizing patterns. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam’s eyes follow the glimmers inadvertantly, like a kitten with a flashlight beam. To anyone else it might have seemed like they were having a close moment; the truth was that they were both extremely bored.

“So what did you do today, Sammy?” asked John, leaning across the table for a roll. Dean simply kept his eyes on the fork. It was safer that way.

He could almost imagine Sam shrug and toss his perfect hair. “Nothing much. Regular old school.”

“And debate team?”

“Oh, that was fun,” Sam said brightly. “Chuck wasn’t there, though. I think he had this date thing with Becky or something.”

“Shame,” John said sarcastically, spearing a boiled potato with slightly more force than was necessary. Dean knew there would never be anything positive John had to say about Chuck, not since Chuck confessed to a crush on Sam a few months ago. Sam had fortunately been relatively gracious, but the poor bastard still never heard the end of it. Dean was secretly fond of the guy, mostly because of how uncomfortable he made the rest of his family. He was glad to hear Chuck was in a straight relationship now, though; maybe it’d help people file his crush as an unimportant little slip up.

At least, people who weren’t his father. There was no swaying John Winchester.

Dean suspected Sam was trying to subtly bring John to see a little bit of sense, casually mentioning Chuck now and then in conversation, but he also knew it was a waste of time. Sam’s cautious way of gauging reaction were no match to the impressive grudge their father could hold.

“How long have they been together?” Mary asked Sam.

“A few weeks,” Sam said uncertainly. He seemed to be oscillating between relief at her mother’s apparent interest and anxiety at the potential dissuasiveness of the short duration of Chuck’s heterosexuality.

John looked displeased with the direction this conversation was heading, which meant-

“Dean,” he said loudly. “How have you been, son?”

_Real fucking glad you asked, Dad._

“Good,” Dean replied, looking John in the eye for a few seconds before dropping them to his plate again. Shame he had finished eating so quickly, there was nothing to distract him.

“I thought you’d said you were going to start stopping at the gym this term,” his father said through a mouthful of boiled greens.

“I haven’t had much time yet,” Dean told him.

“You better do it,” John advised him sagely. “You’ll need to keep your form, now you’ve dropped out of the football team.”

“That’s enough,” Mary said sternly. “Dean’s fine, John.”

“Still don’t get what he’s got against it,” John grumbled.

Dean sighed. “I’ll go sometime this week,” he said.

“If you go on a Thursday, could you pick up the Impala from Singer’s while you’re at it?” John asked.

“Why’s she at Singer’s?” Dean said, slightly sharper than he’d intended.

“He wanted to check her engines and stuff. Says it’s past time.”

“ _I_ check her engines and stuff,” Dean muttered.

The silence was only broken by the clinks of John’s knife and fork after that.

“I’m going to my room,” Dean said after a while. “Dinner was nice, mom.”

“Thanks, dear.” Mary said gently.

It was amazing how John didn’t even wait for him to move out of earshot to mumble, “High time he starts being good for somethin’ for once.”


	2. there's something that's invisible

 

There are benefits to being anonymous. Small. Inconspicuous, flitting from shadow to shadow. A dust mote floating through the air. Sometimes you catch the light, but it doesn’t save you from your irrefutable transparency. On the contrary, it makes you even more insignificant; a particle among particles, dispensable, standard.

I can catch the light on two occasions. When I’m measured, and when I’m dead.

The rest of my life passes, nonidentifiable. The kind of face you see in the hall but don’t talk to. The kind of personality that is cardboard and dull. The kind of voice

that is never heard. A number on a scale. A number on a piece of paper. A number on a passport. I am just a number.

I am just a number.

I drift through the hallways in silence. Nobody looks at me, and they shouldn’t. Their eyes rove over me as they would over a wall, unseeing, disinterested. It wasn’t

always like this.

_It’s easier to starve when nobody cares,_ she whispers in my ear.

I’m too lightheaded to answer.

Ruby’s uncharacteristically early for lab today. She glowers at me as I sit down. I like to think the amount of venom in her glare has subsided somewhat since August,

most likely because I hold up ninety percent of her applied chemistry grade. As usual, we don’t talk.

I don’t think I talk to anyone except Rachel.

_Not since I died,_ a voice amends. _I remember_ we _used those tongues quite a bit._

I press my mouth into a hard line. _Yeah._

_At least_ , she says humorlessly, _our mouths moved enough._

_Yes, Meg. I know._

The flesh has half-fallen off her face now. I can see gaunt bone where her white skin stretched once. She looks no less crazed than she did alive, wrapped in thin, flowing lilac scarves that hang off her like broken wings. The only difference is that now she rests in a shabby armchair with its velvet rubbed off in places, head hanging off the left arm and legs dangling off the right. She never used to sit. Her wrists didn’t use to be slit half open, either.

A figure flits in the darkness surrounding the spotlight that illuminates Meg’s deteriorating corpse, a flash of snowy white angles catching the light.

Ana’s home.

I watch as she slowly moves out of the shadows, her movements halting and stilted,

like a scarecrow limping through a cornfield.

She is the predator and her hunting ground is my mind. She needs not run.

Her limbs come into view first, swinging crookedly, bones stitched together with black string. Her torso follows, a composition of hipbone and rib and spine, and her long, long neck, and finally her face- a mop of black hair and an incredibly white, sharp smile. She makes her way towards Meg, whose head lolls towards Ana, mouth stretching into a huge grin.

They kiss for a long time.

It looks more like they’re feeding off each other’s tongues, a ravenous display. Ana’s lips move to Meg’s neck. At first I think she’s kissing it. Meg’s eyes roll back into her head and she moans softly.

When she draws back, her teeth are wet with blood.

“Hey. Captain Silence. Quit zoning out.”

Ruby’s abandoned the task of applying passive aggression to her nail polish in favor of scowling at me.

“We’re doing something with alcohol or something,” she says. “Get your shit together and do it before someone notices.”

She’s being extra bitchy today. I give her a dead-eyed look before I reach over the table for a vial. According to the board, we’re oxidating ethanol. I nudge her and

gesture at the Bunsen burner that’s unfortunately too far down her end. She slams it down in front of me.

_Way to be grateful, bitch._

Meg’s very prominent these days indeed.

I cringe as an ache slams into my head like a freight train. Like a sledgehammer hit on the right of my forehead. Ruby notices but chooses to ignore it.

(of course she does)

I’m actually grateful she does. I feel even worse than usual. My throat is getting slimier and I think there’s something wrong with my eyes because now I can’t see straight, not really, and oh there’s a little pinwheel spinning in front of me but it blurs everything else and what is that smell because it’s too sharp now and everything’s too sharp

and the light stabs

and stabs

sharp

and-

_You’re dying,_ someone hisses. _Soon enough, you will cease to exist_.

“Hey!” A hand’s on my shoulder. My whole frame shakes with the force. “What the hell, dude?”

I blink. Ruby’s staring at me. I nod slightly, then clear my throat.

“You were swaying,” she says. “Like almost fainting kind of swaying.”

I nod again. My hands are trembling viciously, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I breathe deeply and continue with the experiment. The lab air burns my lungs. It must be the alcohol. The fumes are making me even dizzier. I am susceptible to it more so than the others. Probably because I have nothing in me.

Ruby hesitates, then replaces her hand on my shoulder, but gently this time. “Are you okay?” she asks. I nod for the third time. She looks uncertain, like she’s battling between her overwhelming desire to fuck everything and sit back again and the admittedly small amount of decency she possesses.

Naturally, the first one wins. I don’t blame her. Nobody would lift a finger to help me. I don’t deserve it.

(damn right you selfish shit)

Lab is quiet for me after that. We finish in under ten minutes and the teacher- whatever her name is- doesn’t seem to care much what we do. Ruby texts someone and irregularly snaps her nails on the table. I focus on a lot of things at the same time. My legs tap out arrythmic patterns on the ground, my breaths come out short and sharp and slow and smooth without reason, my eyes sting and blur, my stomach flips, my fingers trace my collarbones absently. And in my mind strings and strings of words chase each other relentlessly.

skinnier skinnier skinnier skinnier skinnier

fuck. I hate this shit. I hate you. I hate me. I hate everything. I hate eating. Fuck me.

Fuck my life. Fuck it.

you deserve to die

…I could live a little better with the myths and the lies, when the darkness broke in, I just broke down and cried, I could live a little in a wider line-

hissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

oh. That’s the bell.

-

Dean shouldered his bag with an inward sigh and waited for the tide of people to mostly clear before heading out into the hallway. Ash was home 'sick with the flu' (bullshit, Dean knew he was still hungover from last night's video game contest with the other computer freaks he'd somehow gathered around. Dean refused to compete in them ever since he'd taken an experimental swipe at the controller and been taken down two minutes into the game with an unflattering score- to say the least) and Jo was all the way on the other end of the school taking art, so he was flying it solo today. It wasn't all bad, he reflected. At least like this he could get to the gym and back faster, pick up his baby, maybe drop into the Roadhouse if he felt lke it.

It was Thursday, after all. 

_And I need to keep my muscles clean, don't I, Dad?_

He dropped his gaze to his hands. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd balled his fists.

The gym was about a twenty-minute stroll from school, so Dean took his time on the road, watching the passersby accumulate and disperse in perfect chaotic order. Three laughing girls from that corner, a man from the right, an elderly woman scrubbing at her glasses a few feet ahead, the baker lining up his fresh buns inside his shop window. It was overwhelming when you thought about it too much, so Dean didn't think. He just saw. It was pleasant, really.

He was surprised to find himself standing in front of the gym so quickly.

"Hey, man," he said to the receptionist, twiddling his shirt between his fingers absently. "You know where I can use a benchpress or something?"

"You could use that room on the left," the guy said, not lifting his gaze. "Wait, though- you got a membership card?"

Dean stopped. "Uh...no?"

The receptionist eyed him. "Best get one if you're gonna be around regularly. Costs more if you don't."

"Sure," Dean said, shrugging. "Locker rooms are that way too, right?"

He nodded, turning his attention back to whatever he had been doing.

Dean stuffed his backpack in a random locker- 09, he noted- and stripped off his jacket and jeans, trading them for a pair of shorts and a white cotton shirt he'd been using for this purpose for ages. He bolted them all in and retied his sneakers. Every move he made resounded hollowly in the empty room, metal clanging against wall, bench scraping against linoleum. He turned away from his stash and propelled himself towards the exercise room door. It swung open easily under his shoulder.

There were four people working out. One was an unremarkable jock-type high schooler with tousled sandy hair and not much of a face. Two of them were women in sports bras, rocking the treadmills on the far right side. And away from all of them, almost blended in with his surroundings, cardboard, a bobbing mop of tousled dark hair-

Dean didn't know what had taken hold of him, yet somehow in this moment, all he wanted was to learn who this ethareal boy was, slaving away on the machine, legs pumping irregularly, chest heaving, eyelids fluttering like butterflies and casting shadows on his hollow face in the light.

He must have been here for hours. He doesn't look like he can stand any longer.

So Dean waited, waited for the boy to finally drop onto the bench and chug back his water, maybe munch on a granola bar, scratch his hair or something. He didn't know why it was so important now, but he had to watch him. Maybe it was the way the boy's arms swung, a subtle grace underlying their swift motions, one, two, three, five, one, eight, one, two, two, two, three, six, seven, none, one-

He's going to collapse, Dean thought more than once.

He didn't.

He's not normal, something whispered to him. No, something was very, very wrong with this panting boy who looked like he might cough out his lungs sometime soon, and it drew Dean in like nothing else.

It wasn't attractive. It was terrible. It was terrible, terrible, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. There was no beauty in this, and Dean could not see anything desirable in his movements any longer. They were so intensely destructive, and it was clearer the longer you watched him, like he was a letter that unfolded itself piece by piece. His actions were desperate, every time his foot hit the treadmill painful, every time he breathed bloody.

Dean didn't want to watch it. He did, though. With an unshakeable fixation he watched the boy gasp and push and buoy himself upwards piece by piece and it almost hurt.

_Why do you care so much?_ someone asked him.

Another part of his mind smiled, and it was a cocky one, brimming with a smug self-confidence that Dean hadn't felt for years. _Let's find out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Stella Was A Diver and She Was Always Down.  
> The song that Cas is thinking of in the lab scene is She's Lost Control by Joy Division.


	3. we'll see if you can float

"What's your name?" Dean asked.

The boy stiffened. "Why would you want to know?"

Dean shrugged. "Because you've been on that treadmill for the past three hours, maybe?"

"No, I haven't," he said, eyes determinedly on the wall.

"You've gotta have burned, like, two thousand calories, man."

He snorted. "Don't be stupid. Nobody runs that much."

Dean leaned against the wall, watching him intently. "You're skinny."

He gave Dean a sideways glare. "What is this, an interrogation or something?"

"Just pointing out some facts," Dean said innocently.

"Well then, point them out elsewhere, asshole."

Dean raised an eyebrow. 

He bristled. "I'm on meds, okay? They mess up my metabolism."

"They give you scars too?"

The boy stopped running. He looked pale, Dean thought. The harsh gym lights only enhanced the hollowness of his face.

"You're sick."

"Fuck you," he said, shoving past Dean. The effect was sad; he only managed to bounce off Dean's shoulder somewhat pathetically. He shouldered the ratty rucksack lying on the floor and turned to go, only to meet Dean's outstretched arm.

"Let me go."

Dean didn't move.

The boy fixed his eyes on Dean. They were, Dean noted, astonishingly blue, and far too wide for his narrow face.

"What do you want?"

"I told you. I wanna know who you are."

"What do you care?"

"Not me," Dean said lightly. "I'm betting your folks are pretty interested why you're here running your ass off and not at...what was it?" He snatched a ratty shirt from the pile of clothes in the boy's arms. " 'Red Rock Cafe' working the afternoon shift."

Something flashed in his eyes then. "Sure they are," he said evenly. "Almost as much as yours are that their son's a fag."

Dean recoiled. "What did you just call me?"

"I called you a faggot."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I rather think you'd prefer to do that."

Dean felt incredibly stupid. Cheated, somehow. He would've denied it, but he was sure they both knew the time was past for that. 

"Fine," he spat, throwing the shirt into the boy's arms almost vengefully. "Keep your mouth shut and I'll keep mine."

He turned and marched away with as much dignity as he could muster. 

"Hey."

He didn't look back.

"Hey. You."

"Ugh. What?" Dean said irritably, coming to a halt. He looked determined. It scared Dean. It was a look that told him there were no borders, not really, and he couldn’t measure what the boy would do next.

"You ever been blowed before?"

" _What?_ "

"I said, you ever-"

"Jesus Christ, man! Not so loud!" Dean frantically checked over his shoulder. "Come on," he said, grabbing the boy by the sleeve of his shirt and pushing him far too easily into a relatively secluded alcove.

"So?"

Dean eyed him suspiciously. "What the fuck do you care?"

He shrugged. "I guess it’s pretty simple. You got money. I got a mouth."

"Are you...offering?"

The boy gave him a 'what do you think?' sort of glare.

Dean lowered his voice. "Are you _gay_?"

He made a face. "Nah. No more than the next man."

Dean stared at him. He sighed.

"Look," he said. "You want it, I got it. It isn't an introduction to AP algebra or anything."

"You're fucked up."

"Tell me something new."

Was there really any doubt? In retrospect, Dean knew that there hadn't been a choice, not even then.

"When?" he asked instead.

The smile that twisted the boy's mouth was the most bitter, rueful grin that Dean had ever seen on a person.

"Next week," he told Dean.

"Why?" Dean said, almost desperately. 

The boy was halfway across the room before he turned to reply. "Because you're hot."

And then he was gone, the memory of his crooked grimace vivid in Dean's mind.

 

-

I trudge home. I'm shivering. It could be because of the air. It could be because I'm still thinking of the deal I just made. I'm not sure which and I can't care.

_It was a terrible choice._

It was the right one.

I can leave this anytime I want. 

_Like you can stop hurting yourself. Like you can leave Ana._

Fuck you, I tell the nice little voice of logic in my head.

I reach into my pocket and bring out the lunch money. Rachel's given me two dollars and fifty cents for the vending machine. It'll serve my purpose if I can find a few coins. I discover two pennies in the lining of my pants.

"I'm home," I call inside, heading straight for the little table at the end of the hall. I take out the money jar as loudly as I can and open it. I shake it slowly. I tap the coins together. It sounds like I’m contributing funds. I’m doing no such thing. I have no funds to contribute.

_I will._

I am a hypocrite. I keep on doing it.

Rachel comes into the hallway and I slip in the paper money. I plaster on a guilty face as I screw the lid back on. I pretend to be discreet as I stow the jar away. She looks drawn and tired. A shadow flits over her face as she watches me replace it, the shadow of a person that is resigned to their inadequacy.

I just feel like dying.

_I can make this better now._  

"You want dinner?" she asks quietly.

"No," I say. "I ate at work. Thanks."

She knows the answer already. I know the question. We keep on saying them, though. Like machines.

"You look thin," she says as usual.

"Nah," I respond lightly. "Just tired. I'm fine."

She leans on the wall.

She's the second person to do that today.

The first didn’t look this spent.

"Gabe's coming home early," she says after a while.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She hesitates. "Thought we might have a family night. Talk a bit."

I almost say yes. I want to say yes. I don't.

They really don't deserve me being there. They deserve something better. Someone better. They'll have it.

"I got some homework," I tell her. "Maybe later."

She nods. "Sure. Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from the Interpol song Specialist.


	4. you have no self-control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may be very triggering. Descriptions of binging and self-harm are given. Please remember that your well-being is more important than anything.

I can't stop.

I am just so hungry, so hungry, and no I'm not hungry but I eat, I'm eating

_why am I eating_

_I don't know why I'm eating_

I look around the kitchen in silent desparation; I feel numb and suffocated at the same time, detached, and there is so much to eat. There is no question whether I will eat. I know I will. I know I'll hate myself afterwards.

I still keep on spooning the ice cream into my mouth, spoonful after spoonful of chocolate and it doesn't taste as good as I thought it would but I'm not stopping, I won't stop, I can't stop, or maybe I can but it's not working anymore, and the calories ride over each other I must have eaten thousands by now but I'm already spoiled

I'm ruined

I'm disgusting

disgusting, revolting, I can't believe I exist anymore

The ice cream tub is empty. I stare at it. I have eaten it all.

I'm crying as I reach over the table for the cereal and pour myself a bowl. The milk splashes around as I slosh it into the china, the spoon clangs against the edges, and I can't stop

eating now

eating

eating

die, die, die, DIE, what are you doing? DIE! DIE! DIE!

The tears are coming from somewhere else. I'm sobbing. I sob into the bowl, I sob into the spoon, my hands are shaking, I can feel the fat popping up on my face

I can feel the fat

I CAN'T STOP, PLEASE, LET ME DIE

300, 400, 500-

ice cream, cereal, milk, Snickers minis, jelly beans now, milk again

-600, 700, 800-

I tear into a pack of crackers and now my whole face is wet

_and fat_

-900, 1000, 1100-

my hand finds the blade, the blade is so close, it whispers to me now

I slash at my stomach.

blood, beautiful blood

_my belly is so fucking huge now_

huge, I am fat

I am so FAT

WHAT DID I DO?!?!?!?!!?!?!?

WHAT DID I DO? OH MY GOD, WHAT DID I DO?

-the blood is radiant on my hands now-

-like red ink-

-I spilled the ink-

-kill me-

the blade glints in my hand now, stained

I ATE

I ATE I ATE I ATE I ATE I ATE

a hand reaches over my eyelids and shuts them and I can't open them any longer

Ana's drowning me for what I did

i can't breathe i can't breathe-

_get. up._

I obey the voice. I cannot ignore this voice.

_get. up. now._

she speaks so mildly, she comes so fast

(you come at the right time, you come too fast)

_get. up._

I oblige.

_you. know. what. to. do._

I can see her now. Ana's in the shadows again, her teeth stretched into a monstrous snarl. She's not grinning anymore. I can't focus on her, though, because someone else takes up the room this time. Not Meg. Not Ana. Not me.

Mia's come out to play.

Her bones are gray and pieces of flesh stick to them, like they've been boiled but not enough for all the meat to fall off. Patches of yellow skin stretch over random parts of her body. Her right cheek is morbidly obese and drops of fat cling to it in their sickly wrapper of skin. Her left cheek is nonexistent. She has no eyes.

She takes my hand. She feels slimy. I don't care. Her dress is long and lilac and it sweeps the floor. Its skirt is caked with filth. So are her sleeves.

She's leading me out of the kitchen. Out of the light. Out onto the corridor. She locks me into the bathroom.

_you. know. what. to. do._

Yes, Mia.

_kill yourself,_ Ana hisses from her corner.

Mia's head snaps around, cleanly one hundred and eighty degrees in the opposite direction, and her teeth are fangs. They glint yellow.

_not. yet. he's. mine._

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

sssssssssssssssSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

_MINE_.

and Ana recoils.

I am Mia's tonight.

My fingers seek the back of my throat.

-heave- tears leak out of my eyes

-heave- my throat is burning

-heave- oh, my stomach

-heave- another

-heave and splatter-

I taste the crackers again, one more

-heave-

more crackers splash into the toilet bowl, revolting lumps of fat

-heave-

crackers and is that the Snickers I taste now?

-heave-

out, out, out

I catch myself in the mirror. I can't believe it. I want to scream. I want to gut myself with a blunt kitchen knife. I am just so fat-

_take. it. out._

Yes, Mia.

-heave-

I rack with dry sobs until there is no more. My hands are canvas, painted with crimson and vomit. My clothes are paintings in honor of my purge. 

I think I go to sleep right there, on the cold stone floor, with my nails scraping against the toilet bowl. 

Mia's hands stroke my hair as I fade.

-

"So you picked up the Impala afterwards?"

"Yes, Dad," Dean said meekly. "Singer says it's all pepped up and ready to go now."

John eyes him with something that's better than what he's been giving Dean recently- not approval, but acceptance, maybe. "Sure. Next time tell him I say thanks."

"Will do."

"So how did weight training go, Dean?" Sam asked, spooning gravy onto his plate. He offered some to Dean, who passed it on to his mother without touching it. Mary frowned at him.

"It was fine," Dean lied smoothly. "Turns out I'm a bit out of shape after all. I'll get better with time."

"Don't rush yourself," Mary said, catching Dean's eyes warningly. "And eat properly, Dean, you won't have enough energy."

"Oh, he is," John said gruffly, rising to put his plate in the sink. "He's fine, Mary. Just needs to tone up a bit."

"He doesn't need to do anything," Mary said in a strained voice.

There was silence after that for a while.

"Don't worry, Mom," Dean told her after dinner as they scrubbed the dishes. His stomach flipped at the sight of John's half-gnawed chicken legs and he quickly tipped them into the trash. "I'm not gonna starve myself or anything."

Mary looked at him, full in the face, and held his gaze. "I don't think you will, Dean. But would...would you promise me?"

An image of the running boy flashed before his eyes, the bones working  under the yellow-pale skin like faltering machine parts, the knees bending almost double with every step.

"Of course I would," he said soberly.

He would not turn into that, ever.

His mother chewed on her lip slightly. "Your father doesn't know what he says sometimes."

"I know, Mom."

"Don't let him get to you, okay?"

"I won't."

Mary squeezed Dean's shoulder. "Thank you."

Dean swallowed. Only four days until Thursday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Pace is the Trick by Interpol.


	5. tied inside of my own hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may also be very triggering. Descriptions of dissassociation, graphic portrayals of selfharm aftercare and unstable family dynamics. Please be careful.

 

I wake up in my puddle of guilt. How sour it smells, mixed with the remainders of my failure swimming in the blood that's seeped into the vomit. I wince as I try to get up and the pain almost makes me black out again. I cut much deeper than I intended.

Shit shit shit shit SHIT, I'm not going to be able to work out!

It's a miracle nobody's found me yet.

I lie on my back just like that, in this pool of filth and blood and mistakes, and watch the ceiling. The cracks blossom into such beautiful shapes in the dim light. I can make out a rose. And a ship, and a fish-

_steaming piles of fatty salmon lying on platters of pasta on the kitchen table_

'have some more, Meg.'

Meg smiles. She always smiles like this. Her lips disappear into a line. 

'No, thank you, Mrs. Novak. It was really good.'

'Do you want any, Castiel?'

yes yes yes yes I didn't have lunch I'm hungry so hungry

but Meg is looking at me

so I shake my head

I clean my plate

Meg has scraped all the cream off her linguine and pieces of everything still litter her plate

I should stop I can't stop fuck this I'm hungry

'Cas. Let's go to your room now, okay?'

Meg is angry now. I know she's going to purge her dinner right after. I know I'm going to watch. And then she's going to kill me for this.

_she is so pissed I'm sorry I'm sorry_ -

I turn over and retch onto the floor. The effort almost kills me. My throat is burning; my stomach feels terrible. I think I tore open the cut with the force.

The light is gray and pale as it filters into the bathroom. It must be before dawn and I have to clean this up now, clear away the evidence before Rachel- before _mom_ \- comes up and sees. I'll deal with the guilt later.

I detach myself completely.

Everything's marvelously easier after that.

I carefully prop myself up. I flush the toilet. I wet a huge paper towel and scrub the toilet seat. I take off my clothes and pile them in a corner. I gently cleanse my torso. I remain impassive at the gross slits that cover my belly. 

_my protruding fucking fat bloated and now open belly_

No, I detached myself. 

I take a bandage from the cupboard and wrap it around myself. I tape it as securely as I can with plasters. I wash my face. I don't touch my cheeks. I can't be diverted again. My veins have popped from the retching. My face is sprinkled with red pockmarks. I can't change that now. I kneel carefully, squeezing my lips together in agony as my stomach contracts, and wipe the toilet bowl. Mop up the blood with the clothes I've piled in the corner. Hope against hope the stains come out. Scrub meticulously until there is no physical trace of bodily fluids left. Everything must be perfect.

I throw a window open before I leave. The bathroom is cleaner than it was before when I am done with it. I put the dirty clothes in my backpack and slip on three clean layers over my buffer of bandages.

The Meg in my head lays a hand on my neck. 

Good job, Cas, she breathes. Her voice is seductive and cold.

I let her lead me to my bed. I let her wrap me in the blankets. After that I don't let myself think anymore.

-

'Cas? Castiel?!'

'Mom?' Fuck, talking hurts.

'You're late for school, it's almost eight, ge-' She breaks off midsentence, horrified. "What's wrong with your face?"

Acting time. I learned from the best after all.

"My face?" I leap out of bed and if she wasn't here I would consider checking if my stomach was still intact and connected to my other organs and not hanging out of my torso or anything. "What's happened to it?"

She follows me into the bathroom anxiously, flustered. "It's covered with red marks! What the hell have you done?"

_Choose, Cas, honey. Aggressive or submissive?_

"How should I know? I haven't done anything!"

_Aggressive. Very well, then._

Rachel narrows her eyes. "You telling me that just happened on its own?"

"Jesus, Mom, I don't even know what happened! I've been in bed for the past eight hours!"

She passes a strained hand over her face. "What are you going to do about it?"

"What do you mean? I'm going to school and hoping this passes in a few hours. Maybe I banged my head in my sleep or something. Maybe it's hormones. What can I do about it?"

_Beautiful, Castiel. Keep talking. It sounds like you're actually getting somewhere, doesn't it?_

Rachel might actually be shaking, but she keeps it calm. I don't even know if I deserve her. 

_Oh, you do know, Cas. You know perfectly well that you don't._

I sigh and swallow convincingly. My throat protests weakly. "Look, Mom, don't be upset, come on. It'll pass in a few days. It's probably nothing, don't let it ruin your day."

She looks so helpless. She still doesn't complain.

"Okay," she finally says. "Come have breakfast."

I can't protest now. I let her pour me some cornflakes.

They actually taste good. Which is wrong. Food is disgusting. I hate food.

_If you were good for anything you wouldn't have binged yesterday._

_I know, Meg. Please. Just shut up._

_You don't mean that. I won't even if you do._

It's at times like this that I consider throwing myself off a bridge.

Before I go out, Rachel lays a hand on my arm. She looks me in the eyes. I have my father's eyes, not hers. Hers are brown and now lost.

"Be careful," she begs me. "Please."

I smile at her as well as I can. "I love you," I tell her.

"I love you too," she whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from Cutthroat (Cut the Rope) by Interpol.


	6. will you put my hands away?

Not being able to work out means so much free time it's terrifying. I have nothing to do for weeks now until this monstrosity on my stomach heals enough to let me sit upright without dying. Or-

fuck, I forgot about my arrangement for today.

I 'go to work' after school on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. It's such a delicate network of lies that if Rachel actually had the time to blink in my direction it would collapse. I can't do anything about that. I must have faith.

It's Thursday. How did it get to become Thursday so soon?

I wait in the gym as I had promised. There is nothing else to do. If I run I'm scared of ripping open my cuts. They do need time to heal.

I'm thirsty but my throat is too raw to take any water now.

He shows up ten minutes later, my star-crossed lover. I don't even know his name. I already hate his guts.

_He's pretty_ , Meg says matter-of-factly.

_Yeah,_ I answer. _And you're dead._

He catches my eye across the room and motions towards him like he's some sort of beacon. Fuck you. I'm here to do a job. 

_Then do it right, Cas. Nobody gets to stop acting._

"Hey," he says when I get close enough. I stare at him. He frowns.

"The fuck happened to your face?" he says in mild horror.

"You won't be seeing it long enough to care," I tell him. "Follow me."

I lead him back through the training room and into the hallway, then up a staircase onto the second floor. The men's bathroom across the yoga room will be deserted as only the kickboxers use it, and they practice on Sundays.

"Someone's going to bust in here," he hisses in my ear. I shake my head and explain to him patiently. He's a means to an end.

When he is enlightened he looks at me in a kind of awed...revulsion. That's it. "How long do you spend here, man?" he says.

"Enough," I say shortly as I push into the bathroom.

(such scenes for things that i regret)

The floor tiles are gray and the walls are much of the same, one of them covered with a length of mirrors over a line of slightly grubby sinks. The place isn't dirty, necessarily, but it isn't clean, either. It just feels...stained and... unclean, even though nothing really contributes to that.

_So you're empathizing with a bathroom now? Congrats, Cas, you're sinking even lower than I ever thought you could!_

I turn back to the boy. I don't know what to tell him; pants off? here we go? Should I talk dirty to him or something? 

_Just do what I did, sweetie_ , Meg says. _You've watched me do it enough times to have a vague idea at best._

_Oh, that I have, Meg. That I certainly have._

She smiles, sweet as can be. _I didn't just teach you how to be skinny, you know. You learned a lot from me._

_You didn't teach me to be skinny, Meg,_ I tell her. _You taught me how to die inside each day because I am the opposite._

She shrugs. Collateral damage, sweetheart.

I look at the boy. I look at the floor. I look at my hands. I look at his eyes. They're green, so green- candy apple green, summer grass green, the green of strawberry stems and elder leaves.

_Looks like Mr. Indestructible has a crush_ , Meg says with an exaggerated wink.

It doesn't aid my cause when his pupils widen, huge and black. The dust in the bathroom rises and falls in the sunshine seeping in through the bathroom window. I swallow and break eye contact. The silence is stretching too wide for my taste.

_Get it over with, you useless idiot._

He clears his throat awkwardly. "How do we do this?" he says.

Time to channel 100% Meg into myself. 

"Easily," I say, putting my hands on his chest. He's taller than me by half a head. I hear him suck in a tight breath as my hands travel downwards. Lower. Lower. I'm at hip level. I can feel his hipbones. I can feel his stomach and the tense muscle beneath. I can feel him and I don't know how to react to that. I don't. This isn't me. This is pure Meg.

I open his belt and sneak a look at him. He looks uncertain and also vaguely thrilled, like he's just seated himself on an incredibly high roller coaster and he knows he won't be getting off. 

I have to give him the chance to get off.

_Idiot_ , Meg hisses. _Just do it and get your money and go._

I have to give him a chance. I am not Meg.

Meg snarls at me. I don't care.

"Do you want me to stop?" I ask him. Every syllable echoes off the grimy walls.

He hesitates. I wait.

"No," he says. "Go on."

I take off the layers one by one, first pants and then underwear, and I stare at what I must now do. It's big. I can't believe Meg did this regularly to people. It just looks so...huge. I don't know if it's going to fit in my mouth.

_Of course it will, you stupid bastard. Just get on with it._

I swallow. I get closer. I press my lips to the tip of his cock. I know what to do after this.

I think he moans a few times. I just keep moving my mouth. Pull, nudge, enfold, withdraw. I know exactly how long it's supposed to last. I know what to charge him for it. I can do this.

It’s not long before he comes, or maybe it is and I don’t realize it. I hear him. He sounds incredible as he moans. I don’t know how to define them, and I don’t know how I feel about them, I only know that when he does come I spit it out convulsively before I look at his face.

_No calories in me._

His last, shuddering moan is like hearing something collapse softly.

He looks so...

he...moans,

he-

he's beautiful, how did I do this?

he's beautiful.

He opens his eyes halfway and slumps to the floor, his back dragging against the wall. I kneel beside him.

"Fuck," he whispers.

I don't know how to respond to that. I don't care; I just watch his face. How could- how could I not have noticed how beautiful he was?

Meg did.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he says, looking at me. "Is this...is this your job or something?"

"No," I say. I pause. "Not necessarily, anyway."

He doesn't question that. "How much?" he asks instead.

I fix him with my most impassive stare. "Fifty."

"Fifty bucks to suck my dick?" he says, slightly incredulous.

"What did you expect, breakfast in bed?" I say icily. "You paying or not?"

A vein jumps in his jaw. He still passes the money into my waiting hands.

"Thanks," I say.

"We doing this again?" he asks.

"If you're buying, I'm selling."

"Yes," he says without hesitation. "But I'll want more than a blow job."

"What, you wanna fuck me now? Damn, son, you're really flourishing in that closeted homosexuality of yours."

"No," he says quickly. "No, Jesus. I want you to tell me about you."

"No can do, hotshot," I say snappily. 

"Come on, man," he says. "Look, I know you don't get why I care, fuck, I don't get why I care. But I really want to know. It's good money, and who am I gonna tell anyway?"

_NO! NO! NO!_

_Are you crazy, Cas? Rule number one of having an eating disorder: You do not talk about it! No!_

_Oh, just shut the fuck up, Meg_ , I tell her tiredly.

_Shut up?! He's going to try and save you, Castiel. You're such an idiot!_

_I'm not, Meg, please give me some credit. It's not like I'm going to spill my innermost secrets to him or anything. I don't even know his name._

_Yeah, and you're still watching him like he's the son of God incarnate or something. He's going to be the death of you, Cas, mark my words._

_Like you weren't that already,_ I scoff _._

She looks scandalized. Good. I revel in it.

"Sure," I hear myself say. I even remember to give him a smile.

-

This was not good. This was definitely so not good. 

_Pucker up, Winchester,_ Dean told himself. _You got yourself into this. You want to learn what's happening or not?_

He glanced back over his shoulder, unable to help himself. It felt like he was being watched. He always felt this way now, or at least he had for the past two days. Ever since that boy from the gym had gotten Dean into that room and out of his pants and out of his mind.

It was even better than he'd imagined it would be.

Sure, he'd been sucked off before, of course. Lisa Braeden had been most eager to provide him with the service, even when he was a sophomore and she a senior. That relationship had only lasted as long as Dean's admittedly pleasant delusion of pretend heterosexuality. Pleasant, because then life had been simpler. He was still a fuckup but at least he was a straight fuckup with a chance to get a girl someday, and a decent job, and a few kids to make John proud. 

Proud?

Well, appeased might be a better word.

And then of course Dean had met Benny,  and his whole frail structure of weak dreams had shattered like a full water pitcher that had been left to balance on top of a pin.

Lisa suddenly wasn't as candid anymore when Dean approached her with a lame-ass apology in the middle of winter semester and, in essence, dumped her.

And yet, her lips on Dean's hadn't been one half as sweet as Benny's were.

Yeah, Dean thought bitterly, until Benny just happened to find himself on Andrej's cock at a party two weeks later. That hadn't even lasted a fortnight; time to celebrate his first failure at the one thing he thought he couldn't fail at (that being his sexuality; until then he hadn't thought it possible to fail at one's own identity. He was wrong.)

And then, for some completely fucked up reason, the universe had decided to push this boy into his life, this boy with his incredible blue eyes and his terrifying gravity that had pulled Dean into himself without the slightest effort.

How ironic it was that the universe had manifested itself into none other than John Winchester for this particularly homo occasion.

How very fucking ironic indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Hands Away by Interpol.


	7. the more robust of blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly apologize for the lateness of this chapter, some very big changes in my life happened this week and I've just been too involved with them to update.

There is rice on the plate

There are beans on the plate

There is meat on the plate

There is grease on the plate

There is food on the plate

There are calories on the plate. 

There is fat on the plate. There is crunches and crunches' worth of pudge waiting to lodge itself on the bone. There is evil creeping up to my nose, settling on the cheekbones, filling the hollows, smoothing the inclines, bridging the gaps that I have worked to open. That I have starved to open. That I have slaved away for hours on the treadmills to open. 

The little trophies I have died to take.

Rachel sits opposite me. Her face is grave. She watches me, hawklike. 

"Eat," she says, voice hard.

I swallow. Not the time to argue.

 _WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_ Hissing echoes in my eardrums, filling the room inside my head with resounding, continual sound. Ana darts out of her throne in the shadows,  gait catlike and angry. _FIGHT BACK!_

I pick up the fork. 

_NO!_

_I'm sorry._

(and oh you love to hate me don't you honey)

_NO! NO! NO!_

_I'm so sorry._

(i'm your sacrifice)

I pick up the knife. 

 _USELESS!_ Ana screeches. Her fingers move into her wisps of hair, twisting, turning, pulling, there won't be any left, she's shedding her scalp.

_Shh. Please. I'm sorry._

(sweet sacrifice)

I cut a piece of the meat. I remember the smell. It smells like old memory.

(i left my urge in the icebox)

I cut the piece on my fork into half. I meet my mother's eyes. They flicker into Ana's and back again, black smoke and clear blue rings, like an indecisive TV channel.

My stomach is churning. It's disgusting.

I place the fork into my mouth.

It tastes-

it-

fuck, it's delicious

_I will never eat._

it's delicious

_I will never eat._

it...oh, sweet Jesus

_I will never eat._

I slowly sink my fork into the mound of rice, the huge, sickening pile of starch, and then I've raised it to my lips again and oh-

slice, spear, gather, swallow

_oh how fucking hungry I am_

_I will never eat._

_I AM EATING._

Rachel is still watching me.

There are so many forkfuls left to go.

I feel so heavy now

_is that bloating?_

_oh no_

_oh NO_

_oh my god that is fat_

it is there

_that is soft no please oh god oh god oh god_

slice, spear, gather, swallow

_you've gotten fat._

slice, spear, gather, swallow

_useless, spineless bastard._

slice, spear, gather, swallow

_fuck you._

slice, spear, gather, swallow

All that I can think is that I am sorry.

And then I am done.

Rachel looks me in the eye. 

"You eat dinner with me now," she says. Her words have no meaning.

"What?" I say stupidly.

"We're making this arrangement," she enunciates, putting my plate in the sink, "where you sit on one side of the table and I sit on another and we eat what I cook."

"Since when?"

"Well, as we've started today, since October the eighth."

BUT I CAN'T EAT!

She looks at me. "What's wrong? You look like you've just been sentenced to death row."

I HAVE YOU STUPID WOMAN, I HAVE!

_you are killing me you just killed me oh shit oh shit oh shit_

_this means I eat!_

My head is a madhouse. 

(she said little boy i do believe you're dying)

The three entities that control my life are now screaming over each other.

"Nothing," I say. "Can I just go upstairs now? I've got some stuff to finish until the end of the week."

Before I've reached the second landing her voice floats up to me, almost surreal. I feel like I have cotton wool in my ears.

"Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck with that."

-

Ash wrinkled his nose. "I don't remember you going to the gym before."

"Dad," Dean said grimly.

The issue was not further stretched after that.

Jo elbowed him not too softly in the ribs. "Move over, I want some of that pizza."

Dean made a face. "Here, have your weird-ass Hawaiian pizza. I don't want any part of such an abomination anyway."

"No way," Jo said, leaning over Dean to get at the pizza box. "Fruit on dough is one of the greatest inventions in culinary history and you will never convince me otherwise, Meatlover."

Dean placed a hand delicately on his brow. "Pray, do not blaspheme, Joanna."

Ash snorted into his Coke. Jo stuck out her tongue at the both of them.

"What are we even watching?" Dean asked Jo after a silent minute in which everyone just vegetated in front of the screen.

"Beats me, Ash had the remote before the pizza came."

Ash held up his hands. "Don't look at me. When there's food I'm not going to waste time changing channels."

"Well, I don't think any of us have genital herpes," Dean said reasonably. "Unless little miss pineapple here would like to come clean about anything."

Jo pegged him with her half-eaten crust. Dean took an exaggerated bite out of it in response.

"Well," Ash said, heaving himself out of his chair, "while you two lovingly stage your pizza battle, I'm going to get myself a pint of Ben & Jerry's."

"That's going straight to your hips, you know!" Jo hollered after him, cackling as he flipped her off casually.

Dean felt his stomach lurch at the words. He had absolutely no idea why they would affect him now; it was a joke, not even aimed at Dean himself, and even if it hadn't been a joke why would Dean care?

He wouldn't. He just knew someone who probably would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Length of Love.


	8. you're colder than yourself

No. I'm too tired for this.

_...what did you say?_

_I am,_ I plead. _I really am. I think I might collapse._

Meg leans forward in her chair, eyes fixed on mine.

_Fuck that. You don't deserve to sit._

_You're sitting,_ I point out bitterly.

 _I'm dead, fuckup,_ she says sweetly. _We do have our privileges._

 _AND I AM DYING,_ I scream at her.

She grins. _Exactly._

I haven't eaten for twenty-four hours.

 _Don't. Eat._ Meg stares at me long and hard _. Hunger is good. You hate eating. It's disgusting._

But I'm so hungry-

_fuck that._

I'm SO hungry-

 _yes. don't you love it?_ she says enthusiastically. Her voice sounds like the peals of a bell.

_You've done longer than this before._

I know.

_For weeks on end._

I know.

_Running miles and miles each day._

I know.

_And now you're saying you're thinking about eating after fucking twenty four hours?_

_You actually struggled through this fast!_

you're getting weak

WEAK

-hissing hissing hissing-

_STAND UP, YOU USELESS LITTLE SHIT._

_NO!_ I scream again. _I NEED TO EAT! I WANT TO EAT! I'M SO HUNGRY! I AM SO HUNGRY! OH MY FUCKING GOD, MEG, FUCK YOU!_

She eyes me disdainfully. Poisonous. Divine.

_Ana will get you if you do._

I move into the kitchen and receive a double shock.

"Morning, Cas," Gabriel says with a sloppy grin.

"Gabe?" I splutter. "You're here!"

"Obviously, kiddo." He bites into a Mars bar with relish.

That's 280 calories, Gabe. 

Eat it. Eat more than that. Let me watch. Let me watch. I'll watch.

OUCH! Ouch what the actual fuck? 

My stomach feels like it's being stabbed-

oh fuck it hurts

oh fuck-

deep breath

measure the breath

"Cas?"

"Yeah?" I say too quickly. Gabe's frowning at me.

"You're okay, right?" he says.

"Yeah! Of course!" 

Smooth, Cas. Real smooth.

"It's just." Gabriel looks at me steadily. "You look thinner."

"I'm growing."

"This isn't slimness. You actually look thinner. I can see your cheekbones."

WHAT YOU COULDN'T BEFORE?!?!

_oh my god oh my god oh my god WHY WOULD you SAY that oh my GOD oh jesus_

"It's nothing, Gabe," I say, drawing a shaky breath. The knife twists in my stomach. 

-ow I want to sob so much-

"It's not just that." He fixes me with a measuring glare. "Mom's not sure you're eating."

"That's stupid. Why wouldn't I eat?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

fuck you, Gabe.

"I don't know, you're the one implying it."

"Fine," he says. "She said we're going to have dinner together from now on."

"I've noticed," I say through gritted teeth.

The silence is tense and I don't know what to do with myself.

Gabriel gestures toward the table. "Have breakfast, then. That's why you came in, isn't it?"

I TOLD YOU, Meg hisses in my ear. I told you. Everything falls to pieces if you don't have control. 

"Yeah," I say, ignoring her. "That's why."

I go to the cereal cabinet. I want Cheerios. And Frosted Flakes. And muesli. And dried fruit. And rye. And milk, so much milk. And yogurt and bananas and fruit and _oh shit I want too much_

I'm not going to get any of those.

I pour a serving of cereal into my bowl. I pick the smallest bowl. I fill half of it. I dress it with milk. I get a spoon.

"That's not enough for you," Gabe remarks.

Fuck you.

"Oh, it's fine," I say. 

The cereal tastes so good

_so good_

_this is life_

_so good_

_oh jesus this is porn_

The bowl is empty too soon.

_I want another._

_I want another. I want ANOTHER._

I will get another.

I take the milk. I take the cereal. I fill the bowl this time. I brim it with milk.

That was about 80 calories. This is 175 calories. That's more than you've had for breakfast for eight weeks.

 _I AM HUNGRY,_ I scream. _I'm so hungry. I want to die. I don't know what to do. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry._

 _You're not hungry_ , Ana says. _You're a fat pig that's weaker than he knows and you just don't want to admit it._

 _I know, Ana_ , I sigh. _I know. I know._

_I am so sorry._

I eat.

-

"Fuck," Dean moaned. 

There was a moment of silence, and then-

"oh, fuck!"

He was so close now to breaking point, the boy's mouth ecstatically warm on his cock, moving, tugging, he was about to come now, he moaned again, his hips rolled against the boy’s face, the feeling coasted around his navel-

and then it was gone.

"Jesus!" Dean hissed, swallowing painfully. He looked wildly around at the boy. "What the fuck, man? What's wrong?"

"You can't come in my mouth," he said. He said it like it was the most obvious thing ever to have passed into conversation. It was a statement. His eyes were dull. 

Dean’s whole midsection burned with denial, he needed to come, he was in agony.

“At least finish your job!” he said to the boy, his voice cracking in bare control. “Come the fuck on!”

He hesitated for a moment, then two white, veined hands- how was it possible to have such cold hands?!- enveloped Dean’s cock, traveled up and down, smooth, the friction resuming- he was so good-  and then Dean was done with one great gasp, the fire leaving him in waves.

They both ended up on the harsh floor, white semen coating the boy’s hands and a part of Dean’s navel, the silence coarse and impenetrable.

It was so incredibly stupid for him to have this boiling rejection in his stomach. So fucking stupid. 

_And now you're devoting yourself to your fucking whore. Pathetic, Winchester._

The boy shifted his gaze to the bathroom tiles for a moment. Dean watched him watch the sunlight play on the white linoleum. It felt cold on his bare skin. He felt cold inside, too. Like something shivery was clawing its way up his throat.

"It's not you."

"What?" 

"It's not you," the boy repeated, his voice even quieter than before if that was possible. "It's...it's something about me, and-" he inhaled and winced heavily right after, hand flying to his abdomen reflexively- "I can't get over that right now. Okay?"

Dean nodded.

The boy watched the flooring. Dean watched the boy.

"Is the deal off?" he asked timidly then, tearing his eyes away from those pools of light and fixing them on Dean's, the blue wide and unsure and rippling once more.

Dean shook his head. "Not unless you want it to be."

"No," the boy said too quickly. "No."

There was no reason for Dean to feel used at all. Fuck, he was the one paying for the blow job, and he couldn't understand the consuming bitterness that now enveloped him. 

He was only worth what he paid.

 _YES, I believe that's the definition of prostitution, Dean,_ the voice of logic in his head told him.

He couldn't care less.

The boy was detached. He knew the shape of this, and so did Dean. Dean could do the same.

Yeah...no, not really.

"I believe you owe me a secret now," Dean said loudly. Far too loudly in the still air.

The boy gave him a flitting smile. It wasn't a cordial smile, scripted and bitter. "Don't you think you'd better learn my name first?"

Dean waited.

"It's Jimmy."

"I'm Dean."   

"Okay," Jimmy said. "Any other questions?"

"I don't know, man, how old even are you?"

"I'm sixteen," he answered in that closed voice of his, the one where Dean saw no emotion or acknowledgement, only a vague existence that failed to shine through dead eyes. 

He hated it.

"You don't look it," Dean told him. 

Jimmy's gaze flashed with irritation. "I don't give a fuck whether you think I look it or not."

Dean didn't get why this had riled him up so much. "Fine, man," he said, spreading his hands. "You're sixteen. I'm seventeen. We're cool."

Jimmy only squinted into a corner.

"Okay," Dean sighed finally. "I guess that's it for today, okay?"

The other boy nodded slowly.

Weren't his Thursdays a motherfucking party, Dean thought bitterly.

As he passed Jimmy the cash, he was glad he didn't feel anything at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Specialist.


	9. somehow i'm not impressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am genuinely sorry for how late this is! So much has changed in my life lately and I've just been trying to keep sane for so long that I forgot about updating for a while.

Ruby's in a nice mood today. And surprisingly, I'm not being sarcastic.

She isn't abusing her nails, or distributing lethal looks to any misled bystanders, or having unsatisfactory conversations with whoever she texts on her phone. She even passes me a stirring rod for our solubility experiment, which is more than she's volunteered in three months. I have the vague feeling that I'm going to learn the reason of this uncharacteristic buoyance soon whether I want to or not. I learn sooner than I expect.

"Hey, Silent Bob," she says, sliding the band out of her hair and combing it lightly with her fingers. "Will I be seeing you next Saturday?"

Uhm. What?

Are my blackouts getting more frequent? I feel panic rising in my chest now. What have I missed? Did we make plans with Ruby? Why the fuck would I make plans with Ruby? Have I ever even talked to Ruby? 

"And the ultimate blank stare," she sighs, turning her eyes critically onto mine. I feel uncomfortable when she looks at me. I feel uncomfortable when anyone looks at me. "Don't look so puzzled, it's not the answer to the mysteries of the universe."

42, a part of my brain singsongs. 42, 42, 42, 42...

_maybe I should've eaten something_

_no_

"...party and Bela says..."

(Forty-two, said Deep Thought, with infinite majesty and calm.)

"Hey!"

I blink. Ruby scowls at me.

"Did you even listen to me?" she snaps. I nod. She rolls her eyes in disgust and continues.

"The party's at Lilith's place as I was saying before you zoned out on me  _again_ , and Bela-" she gives her phone a little shake- "told me to spread the word. Apparently there's gonna be a few new faces so since you never show up to the other parties, I guess you could blend into this one with them."

Since when does she care? I give her a slightly sharp look but shrug. She smiles. 

"Bela's got a super hot date," she goes on conversationally. "It's this guy who's just been moved up to her trig, and apparently he's-"

I never get to hear what exactly he is because then the bell blares like a siren and it's time to move.

I'm still not sure how I've been pulled into this party. I haven't been to one ever since Meg died.

Ana shrugs, stretching her skeletal limbs with a sigh. 

_At least you won't eat that night._

-

"You? You moved up on trig?" Jo said incredulously.

"Don't be so supportive, Jo, I'm going to grow too fond of myself," Dean said sarcastically.

Jo spread her hands in surrender. "Sorry, dude, but you always said Walker was a dick."

"Well, apparently he thought I was enough of a dick too to switch me over to Henriksen's period."

"Yeah," Jo mused. "You seem to have that effect on people."

"Gee, thanks."

Jo laughed. "Hey, I'm just kidding! Lighten up, Winchester. What's gotten into you today?"

"Maybe I've got PMS," Dean offered.

Jo gave him a look.

Dean returned it, throwing in a comically raised eyebrow for good measure.

"Fine," Jo relented, stuffing a fry into her mouth. "Just tell me if you're going to be at Lilith's this weekend, then."

Dean hesitated.

"I hate that girl," Jo said thoughtfully, "but I think I'll go. Plus, they're saying a few freshmen are invited, and it's always fun to get them drunk," she added, with a twinkle in her eye. 

"I've got a date," Dean admitted.

"Oh?" Jo said casually. "Who?"

"Her name's Bela."

"Okay."

Dean ate a fry. Jo took a bite of her burger.

"Why her?" she asked after a while.

Because she was interested in Dean.

Because she wanted Dean.

Because Dean felt so used.

Because he deserved another life.

Because he was not committed to some blue-eyed whore he paid to reject him, apparently.

Because he should not care so much about said whore.

Because this was who he should be.

"She's hot," Dean said.

And Jo nodded and didn't question him, like the awesome friend Joanna Beth Harvelle could be.

Dean tried to do the same as well. Too bad shit never worked out for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's NYC.


	10. no way, no fucking way, no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers pertaining to force-feeding and peer abuse.

It's far too loud, there are too many lights and the bodies pressing down on me are suffocating. Elbows and breasts and shoulders are shoved into my face. I jostle around like an inflatable life raft in a hurricane, unable to keep my footing. It smells like sweat and alcohol. I feel like I'm about to throw up again. My head is spinning. 

At least nobody makes me eat. 

I am invisible once more in the mess of people. It's always at parties where you can see the bare blemishes on people's masks, because sooner or later they drop. Beer is consumed, sense is lost and you can always find someone worse off than you are. The drug users with their gaunt faces and sunken eyes that I am ashamed to be jealous of, shooting up in the bathroom, sharing pills in spare rooms, addicts to substances that kill them softly. Nobody tries to stop them from doing anything anymore, they're already too far gone to count in their eyes. There will always be enough of them in the world. Some people smoke joints out back, which is normal enough for everyone to do in almost a precise schedule: Smoke, blow, be replaced by next pothead. Inside, the plastic perfect population of high school is not as perfect. Everyone drinks. Couples and not couples make out in random places. I know that in an alcove somewhere, a boy is being blowed for money. One of Meg's customers; found a new whore. It wouldn't have been all that hard, they paid well. In the lit entrance, clusters of people stand around, talking and laughing and eating and drinking. Crumbs and spilled drink and cigarette ash stain their mouths and clothes.

And I am none of them.

Nobody can see through my veil and it makes me feel a secret pleasure.

(my own thing, my own thing)

A hand grips my forearm tightly and I flinch. It's Ruby, clad in a blood-colored dress.

*my thighs are thinner.

*I'm a terrible person.

"You came!" she says loudly. 

I stare at her. I must look like absolute shit right about now, but nobody really cares anyway and Ruby seems to be staring at a point a few inches above my head in vague determination so I'm pretty sure she's hammered. That and the fact that she's actually giving me a tight smile; there is no way in heaven or hell that Ruby would give a single fuck about my presence sober.

She slides her hand down to mine (how warm people are) and, true to her drunkenness, does not flinch at how icy it must feel. I do, but not because she's cold.

"Come on!" she shouts, pulling me through the crowd with her. I dodge a few paper cups and two kissing couples along the way. I have no idea where she's taking me but the world's blurring into a disillusioned fantasy and I don't feel like this is real anymore. I must be dreaming.

The people are getting louder and louder as we pass them, the lights brighter, and suddenly the music starts to pound in my ears and oh, we're going to the keg. I wonder who they're going to get drunk this time; it's usually a freshman they intoxicate first, before the seniors finish up the lot in a final act of bravado. I guess she wants me to be in the audience for this special moment; maybe she needs someone to bitch about it for a while in the absence of her texting companion. I don't really care, as long as I'm lost in the blur.

*and secretly it's so satisfying to see all those calories go down their throat.

Ruby shouts something indiscernable at me and I nod vaguely, glad her hand leaves mine as she disappears into the throng. I can't see the kegger, though, and it's certainly strange. I don't get what's happening. 

"Come on," Ruby suddenly whispers into my ear, and I recoil. Her breath smells of beer and cheap pot. Her nails dig into my wrist and other hands I don't know the origins of push me forward and I hate it I hate this I don't want to be touched what the fuck is going on oh no why am I being led to the keg who are these people what is happening oh NO NO NO NO NO YOU CAN'T MEAN THIS-

"NO!" I scream, but the words are drowned out. I thrash, but the jocks now wrapping their goddamn arms around my legs are too strong and Ruby still has my wrist and _just NOOOOOO oh-_

I am tonight's entertainment. I am tonight's entertainment. No. No. NO!!!

I want to vomit I can't handle this they're touching me they want me to drink!!!!!!!!!!

"STOP IT!" I shriek. My vocal cords feel like they'll snap but I don't give an actual fuck. Ruby's let go of me and I catch her face as they turn me upside down. It's full of glee, motherfucking amusement, and she's laughing.

"Who knew?" she gasps. "Our little mockingbird sings!"

A whoop goes through the crowd at her words, followed by sparse laughter. I kick around.

They lower me onto the keg. They press my mouth against the tap. I spit it out but the people who have my legs are iron and I'm as durable as a toothpick and just

_no_

I think I'm screaming, but I can't be sure of anything, my vision is blacking out around the edges

I want to cut Ruby

I want to slice them open like ribbons and feed their entrails to them piece by piece

I'm DYING for their ENTERTAINMENT WHAT THE FUCK NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oh my GOD oh no no no no no no-

I drink, splutter, spit, the beer foams out of my mouth and drips on the floor and chokes me and pollutes me, I feel some of it slide down my throat, no-

A pair of wide green eyes meet mine before I lose it.

-

"Where are we even going?" Dean asked Bela as they elbowed into the audience, which was getting rowdier with each passing second.

"Keggers, remember?" Bela answered with a huge smile, turning her eyes onto Dean's. Dean was sure that if he...if he had been normal, this girl would have been a danger sign. He was already too captured in her as he was. She just had that gravity about her; and so Dean followed, half out of curiosity and half out of a pathetic urge to see where the fuck his sexuality was going.

"Yeah," Dean replied, "but shouldn't we wait for your friend or something?"

Bela laughed. "Don't worry about her; she'll be there. She knows her way around the house. And besides," she added, giving Dean a mischevious wink, "she's brought the night's entertainment."

Dean carefully manuevered around the last ring of people around the keg and three things registered with him at the same time.

One. The boy doing the stand was definitely not doing it of his own free will.

Two. The situation was, as Bela had said, a show for the masses, and the boy was just bait for it.

Three. He knew those manic, anguished blue eyes.

"Hey!" he yelled at the two jocks holding Jimmy around the middle tightly as the latter beat at them listlessly. "What the hell do you think you're fucking doing?"

They turned towards him. Fuck, of course it was Alastair, everything fucking had to be about Alastair. And...Brady, or some shit.

"'S wrong, Winchester?" Alastair slurred in that fucked up way of his. "Aren't you enjoying the view?"

"You're torturing him!" Dean bellowed.

Bela stared at him in disbelief, a dainty hand on his arm. "Dean, it's okay."

Dean shook it off.

"I don't believe it," Bela said coldly, her voice high above the crowd. Everyone was watching them now, murmurs running through the crowd. "I thought you were an okay guy."

"This is not okay," Dean snarled. He was about in Alastair's face by now. "Let him go."

"What is this, man?" Brady sneered. "This your boyfriend or something?"

A white-hot bend of fury ripped through Dean's throat. He swallowed it down and shoved Alastair away from Jimmy as well as he could while wrapping his arm around the boy's legs. "Fuck off," he spat, lifting Jimmy off the keg with surprising ease. The boy weighed nothing, emerging with a splutter from the mouthpiece. He gasped for air and retched a few times. The last one actually brought up some beer, which he released onto the floor in one giant heave, and slumped onto Dean's shoulder.

Dean's eyes found Ruby in the crowd. She wasn't laughing anymore.

"Fuck all of you," he said coldly.

Then he walked out of this madhouse, through the gaping crowd and their stupid dead eyes, and into the cold November night with a body in his arms.

He didn't know what the fuck he should do, but now that he was dragging a listless boy down the street with harsh wind icing his face, the red anger that coated his insides was slowly dissipating into slimy panic. Jimmy was effectively out of it and Dean had nowhere to take him. The gym was definitely a no, and so was both of their houses, and that was about it for his creativity for the night. 

He needed somewhere to put the boy down to sleep before he froze to death; because besides being uncomfortably light, Jimmy's hands were almost colder than the air. Plus, he didn't even know what to do if he found a place; he was honestly worried whether the boy would be alive in the morning. He needed a caretaker, not a stupid half-drunk teenage boy. Mary would've known exactly what to say to him. Dean? Dean knew nothing. Jimmy needed a mother, and Dean didn't know where to find his, or if it would be a good idea to take him to her in any condition. His own mother was definitely out of the question, that went without saying, not with John around. Besides, Mary would ask questions.

But...there was another mother he knew that he could trust. Or at least he hoped desperately that he could, and he was fresh out of options.

Dean shed his leather jacket and draped it around Jimmy's shoulders, then lifted the boy into his arms bridal-style.

He just hoped he could make it faster than he expected to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Try It On.


	11. please endure my love's exhortations

"Who's there?"

"Ellen," Dean hissed under his breath, rapping on the door again. "Come on, it's Dean, I need your help."

"Dean?" Ellen opened the door, concern on her face. "What happened?" Her gaze fell on Jimmy and she sucked in a breath, eyebrows knotting. "What the hell's wrong with him?"

"I'll tell you, just please give him some water or something first," Dean pled, dragging Jimmy inside with a grunt. As easy as he was to carry, the guy began to weigh down on you after a while. "Is Jo back yet?"

"No," Ellen said briskly. "She'll be home 'round midnight. Just get that poor boy over here so I can take a look at him."

True to his instructions, Dean set Jimmy onto the couch as gently as he could, then filled him a glass of water from the tap and returned to his side, where Ellen was stripping him of Dean's leather jacket. Dean was glad to see she left everything else on. He was sure Jimmy would've hated to be seen like that.

"Now," she said sternly, "tell me what banged this one up so bad."

"I have absolutely no idea," Dean lied. "He's in my lit class and I think he's drunk or something, but I had to peel two guys off him to see what was wrong. I just kinda feel responsible for him, you know?"

Ellen pressed her lips into a thin line. "Fine," she said distastefully. "You got any idea who this kid belongs to?"

"Nope," he said, and this time it was not a lie.

"Just let him come to his senses on his own," she told him after a slight pause. "You drunk too?"

"Nah, I'm fine," Dean said convincingly. "I'll just crash on the couch for a bit, maybe wait for Jo to come home or something."

Ellen nodded. "Guess that's fine. So you'll be okay?"

"Of course," he replied. "Thanks, Ellen."

"Not a problem, Dean," she said gently. "Just make sure he gets better and I'm fine with it."

So Dean waited.

-

When I open my eyes, it's to soft upholstery and a coarse wool blanket, which I instinctively draw tighter around myself. My body heat has saturated the space between covers and chest; it's warm and I like it.

 _You don't deserve to be warm_ , Ana hisses. 

_You are just weak. So weak._

I bury my head into the fabric and try not to think anymore.

Then it occurs to me that this is not my bed.

This is not our couch, not my fleece. I don't know where I am.

Why do I not care?

I don't know how long I've been here, or how I came here, or where here is. I don't want to remember. 

It's safer in the nice, cozy darkness.

"Dean?" says a suspicious female voice.

My eyes bolt open. 

_Dean?!_

_Maybe you're finally losing it,_ Meg offers, nibbling her thumb with disinterest. _Or maybe you're just in really deep shit._

"Jo," a familiar voice groans from my left-hand side.

 _Probably both_ , Meg amends.

What is this? Am I in his house? What did he do? How did I find him? My head is spinning now and I bury it further into the couch. 

"Uhm. Not to be unhospitable or anything- 'cause sure, man, it's awesome to have you around and all- but what the fuck are you doing in my house with some half-dead boy I don't know?"

"I might've kinda saved him," Dean's voice admits.

Saved me?

"From what?" Jo asks.

Dean hesitates. "Apparently, the seniors decided to get a little more creative with their annual freshman intoxication routine this year."

"Shit," Jo whispers. "You don't mean..."

"I had to fight Alistair and Brady off him," Dean says in a low voice. "It was that bitch Ruby that brought him; they were forcing him to drink."

"Man, they really have some deep-set consent issues," Jo says, her words laced with disgust. 

_they made me drink._

_they made-_

A wave of nausea hits me in the gut and I have the urge to vomit all over the place. I remember, now. It was definitely better when I didn't.

"He'll be fine," Dean says, but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

Jo snorts. "Of course he'll be fine. It was terrible, but hey, they didn't gut the poor bastard or anything."

No, I did that myself, actually.

"I'll drop him off wherever he lives when he wakes up," Dean says. "Let him rest a little."

There is only silence for a few moments after that.

If Rachel wakes up and I'm gone she'll freak out. I can't have that.

Dean can't know where I live, either.

I stretch convincingly and murmur into the blanket. I freeze right afterwards and then sit up, fast.

"Where am I?" I breathe. My eyes flit from Dean to Jo, who is a pretty blond girl with a disgruntled expression. I must look like a madman, which is the intended purpose.

"You're at the Roadhouse," Jo says, slowly and clearly. "Dean-" she jerks her head sideways- "brought you here after a party. There was an incident, but you're better now."

I swallow and gaze into their faces, then at the floor.

"I need to get home," I mutter.

"I'll take you," Dean says quickly. "I'll need to go home anyway and you shouldn't be alone."

"It's okay," I say. "I'll be fine, just-"

Dean cuts me off. "No, you'll freeze and you can't even walk straight. Let me do this, man, come on."

I hesitate again.

 _No,_ Ana says. _No. You've already let him in enough. You're an idiot. Don't be an even bigger one._

"Yes," I feel myself say. "Fine."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Try It On by Interpol.


	12. such a cautious display

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay.

We walk side by side on the road. I could touch him if I moved the slightest bit left. It surprisingly doesn't bother me. I feel sterile, removed. 

"What really happened?" I say lightly after a while. I stroke my left wrist. My fingers loop around it automatically, measuring.

Dean tenses. I can feel it through my layers. He's given me his jacket. I was too selfish to refuse it. I don't deserve to be warm, but I don't feel involved enough to care tonight. The detachment is welcome.

"I didn't know you knew anyone at the party," he says. It's not an answer, but I know I'll get one from him soon enough. "And, man, Ruby is definitely not who I'd expect you to have met. I didn't even think that we could be going to the same school. I'm stupid."

You're not, I think. The words freeze on my tongue. Surprisingly, he doesn't wait for my denial. It's like he doesn't even believe he's worth anything for the slightest second. I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like him.

He doesn't seem depressed. 

Depression does not mean sulking around like a ghost all the time and being the perfect cardboard personality, Cas. That's just you and your weakness. You can't even hide it.

"So anyway," Dean sighs, "these...these people who were hosting the party, they have this tradition of...finding freshmen who like getting drunk. It's entertainment, of a sort."

"I get that," I say hollowly.

"Well," he says slowly, "it's not as bad when the freshmen actually want to get drunk. But, uh..." He seems unable to find the right words. "Once in a while, it's not that fun anymore when all the participants consent."

Something cold laps my veins.

"And these are your friends?' I say through gritted teeth. It suddenly seems sharper.

Dean looks at me hard. "No. Jesus, no. Just let me finish."

I keep quiet.

"I didn't know they were doing it this time," he says in a low voice. "And...and I couldn't believe it when it was you. They'd found you. They were forcing you to drink. You were choking. I didn't know what to do. I took you from them. I think I fucked up but it doesn't feel like it, I couldn't have left you."

_he risked it._

_he risked being beat up._

_he risked being called a faggot._

_he risked it all for me?_

I feel lightheaded again. 

_why why why why why why why?_

Meg hates this. I can feel it, I can feel her seething, and I don't get it. 

_You're not supposed to have this!_ she says roughly.  _Castiel, don't you understand?_

_it's a trick it's all a trick_

_and you don't deserve him_

I swallow shortly.

"Thank you," I mutter.

He eyes me sideways. I can't feel much of the air on my skin anymore.

"Anytime," he says, soft and short.

-

Jimmy's house was not what Dean expected.

First off, it was bigger than what you'd think of when you picture the home of someone who sells blowjobs to support the family income at sixteen. Then again, Dean didn't really know what you would picture for something like that. Jimmy hadn't exactly told him he was poor, but he hadn't exactly told him anything specific except for basic identification. Maybe he was trying to earn some pocket money, although it seemed like a rather undesirable way to get some extra cash. Dean decided to ask him later. After all, they did have a bargain.

Jimmy looked at him, his wide blue eyes more tranquil than Dean had ever seen them. He was slightly worried the other boy might be in some state of shock, but this was better than hysteria, right?

"Thursday?" Dean said finally, the word stretching into the air. It felt like it covered a great deal of other, unspoken sentences without needing to unearth them. It felt like a layer of stuffing between what might have been said, if they had stayed so long enough, and what could be said. Not enough and enough at the same time.

It all applied to the boy's clear, resounding "Yes."

And then he smiled, before he was gone.

Which left Dean plenty of time to reflect on the mess he'd created as he trudged home. 

He'd screwed up bad. In less than two days, every single shit in the school would think that he was dating a boy. Every one of them. He really didn't know how to defuse that rumor, especially with so many airtight alibis. 

Unless he started going out with a girl.

The idea nauseated Dean, and the fact that it nauseated Dean also nauseated him, and now his stomach felt like it had been doused with something awful.

That was not a length he was willing to go to, yet.

What confused him most of all that even with all this, he couldn't regret having saved the boy.

And that was definitely, definitely not good.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Not Even Jail by Interpol.


	13. walk through my gloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some body image issues and violent displeasure may be triggering.

It's quiet as I ascend the stairs one by one, the hardwood cold against my bare feet. I have my sneakers in my hand. Rachel need not know how late I was out in exact detail. I don't even know what the time is and I'm not risking anything. 

I can't believe how peaceful I feel. I know I should be panicking. I know I should throw up now. I know I will be so fat, so very fat, in such a short while. Somehow I don't feel as bad as I could.

Meg is silent.

I can't believe it.

Meg is fucking silent.

I'm going to make the most of this feeling for as long as it lasts.

The mirror, a part of me says softly. It's the part of me that never speaks.

I stop in the middle of the corridor.

It's the part of me that I crush and stab and bury under piles of stone each day.

The bathroom is so close now.

It's the part I starve and freeze and cut. 

I could look in the mirror.

It's the part of me that's timid and pure.

Do I dare to?

It's the part of me that I hate-

yes.

-and it has never sounded prettier to my ears.

_You're going to want to kill yourself_ , Ana mutters. Her voice is strangely muffled.

I turn hesitantly, liltingly, to my right.

_I warned you_ , she whispers.  _I warned you, I warned you._

I walk into the darkened hallway, my shoes dangling loosely from my hand. Every step is incredibly measured and yet so shaky. I could be trembling. Instead it feels like I'm separated from my consciousness, and in a much more different way than it feels usually. I don't know how to describe it. It feels less like disjointed reality, like I'm high on something, and more like blissful ignorance.

The mirror is in the bathroom. The bathroom is two steps away.

I am in the bathroom.

_You're going to die,_ Ana says in a strangely strangled tone.  _I'm warning you again, don't, it's not good, don't. don't-_

I flip on the light.

_oh jesus_

I see the fat molded onto my face. I see the outward curve, the lope of my neck, the softness that cups my chin, the roundness that bulges over my cheekbones, the bones that could have been, the bones that are hidden, the bones, the bones. I can't see all of them. I can't.

I look dirty. I look polluted. I look so fat. 

_I told you_ , Ana weeps.

I feel nauseous.

I feel terrible.

I feel angry.

I AM NOT EATING

HOW AM I THIS FAT?!!?!?! I AM NOT EATING, DO YOU HEAR ME? I AM MOTHERFUCKING STARVING AND I AM STILL SO FAT! I'M SO FAT

_i'm so fat_

_and so hungry and so fat_

_so fat_

_what is this_

_what is this what is this what is this_

The anger pulsing through my veins now is more real than any fantastical 'bliss' I might have fooled myself into thinking I had.

_You stupid bastard,_ Meg spits.  _You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?_

_You're never going to be like the others._

_You will never be thin._

I want to throw things.

_You will never eat._

I want to burn down a building.

_Eating is disgusting._

I want to smash the mirror into millions of fragments, each as fine as grains of salt.

_You hate eating._

_I am going to die._

_Yes. You are._

_Kill me,_ I say weakly.  _Kill me. KILL ME. OH MY GOD. OH MY- OH-_

My fingers seek the jacket and I cast it on the floor violently. I rip off the shirt. I discard the layers I have piled on top of each other, the shirts and shirts that I do not deserve to keep me warm.

I trace the scar that has not even begun to fade yet.

I tore into my stomach the last time. I can see the course of the blade. I can feel the pain circling my guts. I can feel everything.

You fucking idiot.

I want to open it again.

I want to carve my belly out. 

I want to cut off those cheeks.

I want to slice my flesh and writhe in agony because I don't deserve more.

Because then I would be thin, and dead.

Meg's voice shakes dangerously. She looks frightened, almost.  _Don't,_ she says.  _Don't, Cas, don't be even more stupid, Rachel, Rachel will see, don't be an IDIOT, stop it!_

_TURN AND WALK AWAY, CASTIEL._

I swallow and it hurts.

_Cas._ She snaps her fingers at me, and her features are drawn with something I never see usually.  _Cas. Stop looking in the mirror. Please. Please just walk away. Please just walk away and go to sleep and just don't wake up. Don't wake up._

That seems like something I could do.

I'm not moving.

_anytime, he said_

_Yes,_ Meg says quickly.  _Yes. He said that. He said that._

_Why did he say that?_

_You'll ask him next time,_ she says.  _You'll ask him. You need to be alive to ask him. You need to be walking, instead of being hooked up to a hospital bed with sugar water in your veins. You need to breathe._

Sugar water, Ana presses.  _You can't go to hospital. They'll feed you. You'll be sedentary and fed. They will drip the calories in you one by one and you will never even know._

_Cas_ , Meg says firmly.  _Do you get it? Don't cut. Don't purge. DON'T LOOK IN THE MIRROR._

_Just go to bed._

anytime.

I slowly turn away from the mirror. I want to tear my eyes out. 

_Yes, just like that. Good, Cas. Walk away_ .

anytime.

the walls press down on me

_Only a few steps, Castiel._

I walk.

I can see my bed now.

I am fat.

_Sleep, Cas._

I am fat, and I don't eat. It's not fair.

_Sleep._

It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair

My head hits the pillow and I start sobbing uncontrollably. I sob and sob and sob until there is nothing in this world except the blackness and my tears wetting the mattress, and after that, dry heaves of chest that convulse into the bedding.

And then it's over and I don't feel anything.

-

Ruby was waiting for him the next day. It made Dean apprehensive. There was no good reason for her to voluntarily put herself into Dean's path unless she had something even stronger up her sleeve. The knowledge of that didn't exactly boost Dean's morale.

"I need to speak with you," she said, eyes meeting Dean's in veiled urgency. Dean didn't feel anything for her.

"No, you don't," he clarified firmly.

She laid a hand on his chest. Dean recoiled, but not before she'd dropped it.

"I think you're going to want to know this beforehand," she said, her voice low, clear and revolting.

Dean scowled at her. She remained impassive.

"There were a lot of people at the party," she said, eyes still not wavering from Dean's face. "They all saw you with the boy. That can't be good for your appearances, Dean."

"I don't give a flying fuck about what you're trying to imply," Dean said coldly. "All I know is that you forced the poor bastard to do something he really didn't want to do, and he was there because of you, and apparently I was the only decent human at that fucking dump you called a party because it seems that saving a person from what could result in mental trauma requires that you date that person."

Ruby curled her lip. "What did you even care about him?"

Dean felt like roaring in frustration. "Don't you understand a word of what I'm saying? I don't need to be in love with someone to help them, Ruby! Nobody does! You help other people because you are a human being! Fuck!" he added, slamming his locker shut. A few girls threw him weird looks. He felt sick.

"He wasn't your responsibility!" Ruby hissed. "Now you're going to go and destroy your reputation for some sick kid with god knows what's wrong with him, and you don't even think about it!"

"Why do you care about me, then, Ruby?!" Dean exploded. "Are you in love with me, hm? That why you care about what happens to me? Because clearly one needs perfect and total infatuation to worry about another's well-being."

"I care about your name," she said coolly. "I care about all the time you've obviously spent convincing all of us you're normal or whatever. And you want me to be honest? There isn't anyone good enough to fill in your spot right now." She took a deep breath. "You've got an important position in this hierarchy, Dean. Don't lose it."

Dean shook his head. "You're fucked up," he told her.

"So are you," she said without the slightest indication that the statement had insulted her. "I'm just fending for my own here and I'd recommend you do the same." A slight smirk rippled across her face. "And a word of advice before I leave, Dean. Don't you start caring about that boy, because he doesn't care about anyone. You've got a kind heart. Don't let it get torn apart by the likes of Castiel Novak."

Dean's mind stuttered for a heartbeat.

Castiel Novak? what?

Who the hell is that? he wanted to shout at her. We're talking about Jimmy here, Jimmy, the boy I saved!

Castiel...oh.

Jimmy, yeah, right, Dean thought bitterly then. It suddenly didn't feel very good inside him to think of those blue eyes.

Especially when he knew he hadn't done anything to even deserve a straight name, and that Jimmy- Castiel- him- had every right to lie to him about it. 

That's fucked up, he thought randomly.

It's true, the major part of him insisted. It was a heavy insistence that weighed down everything down to his stomach.

When he blinked, Ruby was gone and he was alone in his sad little bubble, feeling betrayed and more pathetic than he would have deemed possible.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Precipitate.


	14. full speed, half blind

I'm not used to this.

I am nobody in the social tide that sweeps our school. I used to be someone, when there was Meg. Back then, I was Meg's boyfriend. I was strong and remote and unreachable. I belonged to the darker quarter, the section of wasted potential and emotional distance and substance abuse that features in every single high school that exists, and they knew me as one of theirs. Nobody touched us, yet there were always the ones that envied, and there were the ones that were revolted, and the ones that just simply didn't give a shit. 

Then Meg died and I spun away into black nothingness.

Nothingness means that you are overlooked, in its simplest form. You are not a pariah, and you are not a human. Eyes stare right through you, dismissive, indifferent. 

I have not been acknowledged past the occasional shove in months and suddenly I seem to be the phenomenal topic of conversation.

It's not like regular gossip. Hushed voices don't follow me down the corridor like a bad high school movie. I am simply a boy who was rescued by another boy at a midlevel party. It's just that everyone knows, one way or another. I wonder idly how many people think Dean and I are dating. I really don't care.

Some part of me may just want them to think it. I shove it back into its place.

As long as nobody touches the real issues, Meg agrees. You're learning.

I realize by and by that some people are actively avoiding me, another thing that has never happened before, although this one I might like. I haven't been slammed into a locker because I hadn't been quick enough to leap out of the way of a stampede of sweaty, loud jocks for days. I don't need to look into leering faces, or watch couples flirt in poor quality. It's a good thing. Solitude is infinitely preferable.

I also reflect that this is not different at all than what happened at the party. There, I was used as a means to an end, the end being quick and low-level entertainment. Now, I am still a means to an end, this endeavor being the topic of conversation. I am still being used to provide entertainment. It feels black, and that's all I can get out of myself when I prod my feelings to see what that really means.

Ruby does not speak with me in lab. That's not a huge change. I can't say I feel anything special about her, no particular hatred at all. I feel blank and I can't say I blame her for what she did. It probably made sense to her to prey on the silent one that nobody gave a fuck about.

_Except someone did,_ Meg says, and her voice is troubled.

_Yes,_ I think,  _someone did._

-

"Are you okay, Dean?" 

Dean shrugged idly. "Of course."

Jo gave him a searching look. "Okay, Dean, listen. I know you probably really don't want to talk about it, but I gotta know this. Do you or do you not know the boy you dragged to my house?"

Dean took a bite of his sandwich.

"I don't need any details, I'm not even going to ask how or why, just tell me if you do," Jo insisted.

"I do," he admitted finally, his voice low and almost unintelligible.

She nodded, dropping her gaze to her food. 

"Why?" Dean pressured.

Jo bit her lip. "I'm worried you might not like everything there is to know about Castiel Novak."

How come every single person knew this boy, and Dean hadn't even known his real name?

"Tell me."

"I don't know much either," Jo said hesitantly. "I don't," she added, when Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I don't think anyone does, actually. That's a bit of the point. He's...faded. Like there's a veil between him and reality. A lot of people think he's retarded. Disabled," she amended hastily as Dean shot her an evil look. "That's not the case, though, according to people who knew him before."

"Before what?" Dean said sharply.

"He used to date a girl that was...famous,' she said carefully. "Or is that the right word? Well-known. She had a reputation."

"How come I don't know her?"

"She wasn't of our crowd," she said pointedly. 

"Oh," Dean said.

"Her name was Meg," Jo continued, "and she died."

Dean's stomach sank.

"She slit her wrists. He was the one who found her."

"And he shut off after that?" Dean guessed heavily.

"Yeah," Jo said. "Like a light. Bam. He didn't have much to speak of before it, either- I think all his old friends simply...left..." She scratched the back of her hand. "That's as much as I know. I just wanted you to as well before...before you did anything else."

He didn't know if he should go that far. Dean wasn't sure what he felt, not really, and it scared him. He knew he liked the boy a lot, for no apparent reason, but there was nothing very explicit in that, was there?

Dean wondered for a moment if blow jobs counted as 'anything else'. He'd bet quite a lot on that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Barricade.


	15. i'm just prey for the female

 

When I get to the gym that Thursday, Dean is not where we usually meet. I stand in silence behind the men's room door, shifting my weight from one foot to another in a pathetic effort to keep moving. I feel too tired to actually do anything and I hate myself for it, but my body refuses to comply to the continuous prods that keep coming from my mind. I don't filter them. It seems a lot like Ana's thoughts and mine are merging lately.

But why isn't he coming?

_He's left you,_ Meg says. She doesn't sound pompous. That scares me a lot.

It's ten minutes late when the door finally swings open. I eye it anxiously as Dean slips in. He doesn't look at me.

What's wrong? What did I do? 

_Who cares?_ a voice supplements indifferently inside my head.  _It's easier when they're gone._

Then why is there this inexplicable anxiety when I think of losing him?

_I don't know_ , Meg admits,  _but I hate it._

I realize I've been staring at him like a wide-eyed colt for almost a full minute now and neither of us have spoken. I open my mouth to ask him something, anything, anything that will make him talk to me. 

"Your name's not Jimmy," he says instead, looking me in the eyes at last.

shit

shit shit shit

_What the fuck did you expect, you idiot?!_ Meg says with a hint of underlying annoyance.  _You lie to him about your name, he saves you in front of half the school, and he still doesn't learn who you really are?_

stupid

stupid

"No," I whisper.

"It's Castiel," he continues. His voice is cool. 

yes

"Castiel Novak."

yes

_Ugh, shut UP!_ Meg yells. 

I look at her.

_What the hell, Castiel? Some guy you whore around for caught you in a lie, so fucking what? He pays you, you blow him, I don't see any room for emotions here. It's a DEAL. Either he decides to let you suck his dick, or you walk away with an empty wallet and find someone else to bone._ She shakes her head in disgust.  _You're not supposed to bond, you idiot. Not with anyone. You're all alone._

All alone.

I like him. I like him more than I ever thought I would, and I don't want to lose that.

 

"Do you want me to blow you or not?" I say mechanically. My voice is flat and dumb. I don't cringe at his incredulous stare, the tightening of his jaw, the steel remoteness of his eyes.

"No."

I feel hollow.

He sticks out a hand to stop me as I move to get out of here, out, away from this boy that has me feeling shit for once and it feels just like that, like shit.

I haven't felt bad like this for months. Not about what happens to me, or what others think, or what they do to me. Why does this idiot affect me so much?

I hate him for it.

I hate me for it.

_I hate you both,_ Meg tells me.

"Don't touch me," I say harshly.

He snaps his hand back. I hadn't intended to be so sharp. 

"Don't go yet," he says. "I'm still going to pay you. The arrangement will be different."

"You want to screw me," I say tonelessly.

He doesn't let on that he's heard me, instead plows on. "I'm still going to pay you," he repeats. "I want you to answer my questions. Truthfully. That's it."

"Fuck you," I say plainly.

He shrugs. "It's much more than a decent offer. I won't touch you. You simply sit- or don't- and you talk."

"Why?" I say weakly. "Why the hell is this so entertaining for you? Is this a fetish? Why do you even give a single shit?"

"I'd like to know that too," he says darkly. "I guess it's one of life's great mysteries."

I want to tell him to fuck himself again, but it's not going to accomplish anything but rile us both up more. Meg is silently brooding. She looks up when I enter the room, head still bent over the arm of her chair. 

_What's that?_ she says crookedly.  _Little_ _Cassie come for a bit of advice?_

_Oh, shut up,_ I mutter.  _Yes. Maybe. Don't act like you don't already give enough of it whether I like it or not._

_I don't know,_ she says with a slight wince. 

_Wow,_ I say.  _Meg, not have an opinion? That's a first._

_Don't be an asshole,_ she says tightly.  _I'm trying to help you here._

_Yeah, nice job doing it._

She doesn't react to my snub.  _It doesn't seem like a half bad offer, Cas. Let's face it, he's got enough dirt on you anyway. He knows where you fucking live- nice one there, by the way, real smart- and if he has the slightest mental capacity he should've figured out you've got issues with eating by now._

_Your point being?_

_You don't have much to lose._

I can't argue with that.

_I'm not saying it's not pathetic, but it's what's happening_ , she says neutrally.  _Make the most of it._

"Fine," I say. "It's a deal."

He inclines his head. 

"What's your first question?" I ask warily.

He presses his lips together. "Tell me about Meg Masters."

-

"Meg Masters," Castiel muttered. He looked exhausted. "Where to start about Meg Masters?"

Dean waited patiently. He did not move or look away. 

"I was fifteen, one hundred and forty three pounds, and eating a bacon cheeseburger the first time I saw Meg. She was fascinating. She moved like she was liquid. I could watch her muscles move under her skin, more yellow than it was white. Her eyes caught mine right across the cafeteria, and they were black and cold and so disappointed. She had herself a tray of food. It was completely untouched."

The room seemed to grow increasingly colder.

"We watched each other from opposite sides of the room, every day, at around twelve. I would eat whatever I wanted." He swallowed. "Whatever I wanted. Her mouth moved in chewing motions, and she drank quite a lot of water. Yet when I look back on it, I never, ever saw her put anything in her mouth. Her stare was diminishing. I only met it. It was a few weeks before she came near me. I remember it so clearly. I had friends then, you know." He said it again, like it left a strange taste in his mouth. "I had friends. Uriel, Hester, a boy named Inias. We were all freshmen, we'd known each other for a few months, and we ate lunch together. I shared a few classes with them. I never did like Uriel much, but he was funny and he filled the silence. He had an on-and-off girlfriend, Anna. She sat with us a couple times. She was nice, pretty, and everything Uriel didn't deserve. He treated her like shit sometimes. The day Meg came around, Anna was sitting on my left, Uriel on hers, and Inias and Hester were stuffing fries in one another's mouths. They'd become a couple not long before. I remember being slightly revolted by their honeymoon phase. I finished my lunch. It was a chicken salad sandwich with a Coke. I sat back, and I looked at Meg, and she looked back at me. And then she rose, staggering, and it was the first weakness I saw in her, and she ditched her tray, and she walked over. She pulled a chair and seated herself beside me. 'Hello,' she said pleasantly- her voice was a sweet drawl- 'I'm Meg Masters.' She wasn't speaking to me. Uriel and Anna greeted her, Uriel perhaps too warmly for poor Anna's liking. She looked hurt. They left the table soon after. Inias and Hester were politely interested in Meg for two minutes, but their preoccupation with each other overtook all other desires. Soon it was just the two of us at that table, her long legs crossed over each other, her gaze fixated on the wall. Her left foot tapped a neverending rhythm. She never stopped moving."

He took a breath like it was denser in the room, harder to inhale.

"I don't know how we started dating. Or if you could even call it that. One day she was a girl I knew, the other she was my girlfriend. All I know is that it felt like being stuck in a freezer where the temperature dropped just a little bit every day. She froze me slowly, and it was almost a month before she commented verbally on my eating. I guess she was waiting to see if I'd give her away. Naturally, you'd have to have something wrong with you to be able to tell someone exactly how many calories their lunch was. It became a sort of game for her after a while. She'd sit with us every day and move around her food, tear apart her sandwich, claim she wasn't hungry, offer us some extra, say she'd already eaten. The others probably didn't really believe any of her shitty excuses either, but nobody seemed to care. She did love watching us, though. I thought it was a fetish at first; but it turned out to be so much more sinister than that. I turned out to be so much more sinister than that. I feel an incredible pleasure at watching others eat. So did she. The only person she wouldn't feed was me. She only looked at me with those disapproving eyes, stared right into me. One day I confronted her about it. She responded plainly. She told me she'd expected more of me. She'd expected me to be better. Stronger."

Dean felt bile lap at his insides.

"It was a slow process. So agonizingly slow, yet when you think about it I deteriorated incredibly fast. I ate less. I ate less. I ate less. The months passed. Anna broke up with Uriel for good. She didn't come to the table anymore. Uriel became snappier. He found himself a new girlfriend. I didn't feel like talking after a while. It was easier in the silence. It was easier in my world. And I shared it with Meg. We stopped going to lunch altogether one day. I felt so empty inside, and I couldn't bear it. I ate a cracker, then another, and then I drank strawberry milk. I couldn't help it. My first skipped meal had failed, and she slapped me after it. I was weak. I was contaminated. I was worthless. I tried harder after that. Meg was always around. I learned from her. I learned a lot. When she died, I didn't feel a thing. I don't think I had for some time. I weighed myself right after I found her. I saw her corpse, and I smelled her blood, and I went into the bathroom and I weighed myself. I weighed a hundred and thirty pounds. I felt worse about that than I did about my dead girlfriend. She would've liked that."

"Fuck," Dean whispered.

They stood like that, in silence. Castiel looked dull and spun out. Dean felt like he might need a bucket. His cold aversion had melted away into shock quickly enough to unbalance him.

There was a slight twinge of affection inside him that made it unbearable, made the whole thing unbearable. He didn't want Castiel to be hurt like that. He didn't want anyone to be hurt that bad, but especially not Castiel Novak.

"I'm so glad she's gone," Dean managed to say. "She was terrible."

Castiel scoffed ruefully. "She never left," he said. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Leif Erikson.


	16. i was chased, thrilled and altered

 

"What do you mean?" Dean says, but something about how he says it makes me think he already suspects.

"She's in my head," I say. "She doesn't want to come out."

Dean shakes his head. "Oh, no, she isn't. It's you, Castiel, not Meg, not anymore."

No. No. No. She lives inside me. She feeds off me. I am hers. 

I shiver convulsively. Dean notices. He looks whiter than usual.

"Fuck," he mutters. "That's-fuck."

He finally sees how incredibly broken I am.

_He should,_ Meg says empathically.  _You'll only weigh him down. You're useless. You don't deserve anyone._

_I want it_ , I whisper.

_Yes,_ she agrees.  _And_ _since when have I given a shit about that?_

_I don't care about you at all. I care about him. He helps me._

_Helps you? You blow him once a week. Great help._

_I like him,_ I repeat.

"You don't need to pay me for this." The words fall out of my mouth. "You don't need to stick around. Just let me go and I swear you never have to see me again and I won't talk about anything."

His face screws up in confusion and he makes to stop me again before remembering my previous outburst, then resorts to blocking my way with no contact. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"You don't need to deal with this," I say earnestly. "Please. I'm not good for you. You don't want me."

"I can decide whether you're bad for me or not myself," Dean says evenly. "I'm going to pay you, and I'm going to listen to you, and I'm still going to see you around."

"Why?!" I burst out. "I'm a mess!"

He pauses for a moment. "I don't care. The mess is part of you."

Part of me. Yes. I know.

"It won't go away," I plead. "You can't heal me, Dean. You're going to hurt yourself. Please, don't."

His eyes are a new kind of steel, fiery and determined now instead of cold. "No."

No might be the most beautiful word I've heard all day. 

I want to leave myself to him. I can't. I won't.

He terrifies me.

I terrify myself.

Dean gives me fifty dollars and smiles tightly. He looks sad. I feel a twinge of guilt.

"Next Thursday," he promises.

“No,” I say suddenly. “Some...some other time, huh?”

His face crumples. “Whenever you're ready,” he says.

“No, no, not like that,' I say quickly. “Before Thursday. How would you...like to go out with me?”

His slow nod tells me all I need to know.

 

-

 

I’m so scared.

_death_

 

The emotion laps over me in huge, gasping waves, freezing my limbs, piercing my heart, numbing and biting and smoothing all at the same time and I’m just simply terrified.

 

_heart problems_

_multiple organ failure_

_depression_

_suicidal thoughts or behavior_

 

The computer screen blinks at me innocently. My eyes hurt.

_bone loss_

_stunted growth_

_digestive problems_

_kidney damage_

_severe tooth decay_

_high or low blood pressure_

 

I feel sick again, and it’s got nothing to do with the condition of my stomach for once.

 

Lifetime prevalence rates for eating disorders in males are .3% for anorexia, .5% for bulimia and 2.0% for binge eating disorder. 

 

50-70% of those who seek treatment will recover, 20% will improve with treatment but still struggle with the disorder, and 10-20% will die.

 

**of those who seek treatment**

 

**those who seek treatment**

 

I’m not seeking treatment. Not ever. Never. Ever.

 

_seizures arrythmias heart kidney brain multiple organ failure_

 

Never.

I’m going to die, I realize. I am going to die.

Sooner. Later. One way or another. I die.

I’m frightened as hell, but I can’t make myself feel anything about dying. I feel hollow. Cavernous. I don’t know exactly what I’m afraid of. There is only me and the indisputable, looming shadow of my inevitable destruction.

I look at the almost scaly, rough patches of skin on my knuckles. The ones I told Rachel were frostbite. They’re not frostbite.

I have chest pain. I have headaches. I have difficulty breathing. I have cracked joints.

It’s just a question of how I’m going to go.

 _You’re turning into me,_ Meg says. She looks thoughtful, reserved. _Completely me. I wonder if you’ll kill yourself._

I can’t bring myself to deny the possibility, and we both notice it, yet skirt around the matter. Leave it untouched, unadressed, unacknowledged in the middle of the room like an irritable stain. Nobody wants to draw attention to it lest they be the one that must clean it.

 _Don’t be this morbid,_ she says lightly. _You always knew, really. Even if the starving didn’t kill you, sooner or later you would. It’s not going to be as fun in a few short years. And can you honestly tell me you don’t want to die?_

No.

She knows I can’t.

 _It’s your fault,_ I say instead. There’s no real venom behind the words, only a dry statement of fact. It is her fault. I should’ve just finished that burger. I should’ve told her to fuck off. I should’ve run, far, far away.

I tell her exactly that. She shakes her head.

_If you’d done that, you wouldn’t be this skinny. You’d never even know about it. All that fat wouldn’t have even bothered you. Ana saved you. I saved you._

I want to punch her for being right and she knows that too.

_Other people eat,_ I point out.  _They’re skinny. They don’t gain weight._

_They’re not as skinny as you are._

_They still aren’t getting any fatter._

_That’s what you think,_ she says.

I don’t respond. She sighs exasperatedly, but there’s no real irritation in it. She sounds more like she’s talking to a very young, very simple child.

_You watch others eat. How much do they eat, Cas?_

I don’t even think about it.  _Too much. A lot. So fucking much._

_How many calories? You count their calories. How much is it?_

_About three thousand,_ I answer. The number makes me shiver.

_You think you could eat all that even if it didn’t affect you one bit?_

_No,_ I whisper.  _I don’t think I could._

She stops. Her face twists into something I don’t recognize on her. It’s the expression one might wear while surveying a piece of messy roadkill left behind by their own car. Pity mixed with revulsion mixed with the knowledge of responsibility, but no guilt pertaining to it. She’s acknowledging her desecration. She’s not feeling it.

_I’m sorry for your pain,_ she says. It’s like she’s delivering a well-rehearsed line, complete with the wince.  _But you’ve got to deal with it._

_Why would you do this to me, Meg?_ I ask her desperately and dryly somehow at the same time. I feel like two people, one completely indifferent and wasted, and one that’s hyperaware and frightened to death. Meg seems like two people as well. I’m losing focus on reality.

_Who am I?_ she whispers, and then I see that it isn’t Meg but me in the chair, blood flowing down my arms- Meg’s blood was always crusted, blackened on her open wrists- and I watch as the darkness lenghtens, lapping at the torn skin, it’s  _licking_ my limbs and the cuts aren’t cuts anymore but gashes and they spread up over my elbow and the blood just won’t stop-

_You see,_ Meg’s voice sounds in my ear.  _You’re already losing it._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's The Undoing.


	17. you can't help but admire or rejoice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry for the lateness of these chapters; I was in a very limited-internet zone for four weeks.

I walk in front of the cafe, the icy wind biting into me. I want to go inside to the warmth, but I can't stand up there without attracting attention.

I am just so damn cold.

“Cas!”

I turn around as quick as I can without falling. Dean's hurrying down the street, avoiding frozen puddles here and there.

“I am so sorry,” he breathes. “I got caught up with dad's Impala-”

“Cas?” I repeat, smiling slightly. “Where'd that come from?”

Dean shrugs, and maybe his cheeks are a tiny bit pinker. “Do you like it?”

“I like it a lot,” I say honestly.

At the table, I order a tall black coffee and Dean decides on a hot chocolate.

_Good. Lots of calories._

_You're not invited, Meg._

“So,” I say, “an Impala, huh?”

“Dad loves muscle cars,” Dean explains. “Not more than me, though. I've been fixing up that old girl since I could walk.”

I raise a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, it's a long time anyway,” he says defensively. I laugh. It feels light. I like laughing.

“I like the way you laugh,” he says, looking down at his hands.

“Then let me hear yours so I can return the compliment,” I say.

“Maybe you will, if you tell me something funny.”

“I'm always funny,” I protest. “It just gets lost in all the depressive shit.”

The waitress brings us our drinks then, and I don't like the way she looks at Dean as she serves him.

“'Lisa'?” I scoff, swirling my coffee.

Dean looks slightly surprised, and the look morphs into something much more mischevious. “Are you actually jealous?” he asks me.

“I'm not jealous!” I object. “I'm just extremely possessive and personal about the people I like, which are few.”

“...or you're jealous,” Dean says cockily. I stick out my tongue and Dean laughs.

“I'm not going to be all poetic,” I say, “but your laugh is pretty nice too.”

Dean reaches for his drink, face all adorably pink.

“You're going to burn your mouth,” I warn him.

He sips it anyway and burns his mouth. I give him a smug look as he swears.

“Fine, maybe I'm not always right,” he amends, pressing a napkin to the roof of his mouth.

“Ew, gross,” I say, pegging him with my sugar packets.

“Don't judge me,” he says. “I'm not the one whose jacket's on inside out.”

“Fuck!” I exclaim, but I realize soon enough that I'm too tired to change it, and I can't think about taking it off. I'm freezing.

Dean looks at me, but the look doesn't go through me, and it's not disgust. It's something I can't place.

A tiny spot inside me pegs it as affection.

A larger spot overrides it.

 

-

 

“You don't like punk?” Dean said incredulously. “What kind of rock fan are you?”

“The classic kind,” Cas replied. “Punk is just too...punk.”

“Wow,” Dean said sarcastically. “Excellent observation, Castiel.”

Cas shook his head. “No, see, what I'm saying is, it doesn't need all that bang. I like metal, fine, but classic rock? Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Beatles? That's what I call music.”

Dean nodded. “I can second that, but you know that The Beatles are also considered punk in some perspectives.”

“Bullshit.” Cas thought for a moment. “Hey, you ever listened to any post-punk revival?”

“I thought you didn't like punk!”

“This is a whole other genre,” Cas said, annoyed. “I'm serious, it's really good.” He took out a pen from a pocket of his coat and made a clawing gesture.

“What?” Dean said, confused.

“Your hand,” Castiel told him exasperatedly. “Give me that fucking hand.”

“Why?”

“I want to eat it,” Cas said, rolling his eyes. “Why do you think?”

Dean held out his hand and Cas began to write on it. It tickled slightly.

“Done,” Cas declared. Dean stared at his palm.

“Interpol?” he read aloud. “Isn't that a police thing in Europe?”

“It's also a band,” Cas said irritably. _He must get that a lot._ “Just listen, okay? I'll give Green Day a second chance, I promise.”

Dean nodded. “I'll take you up on that.” He looked at the slanted handwriting and, in spite of himself, he admitted he liked it.

“You're welcome to write on me anytime,” he told the boy.

Cas smiled. “I'll take you up on that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Precipitate by Interpol.


	18. don't turn away and leave me to plead in this hole of a place

Dean checked over his shoulder again. The library looked empty. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous about all this; it wasn’t anything suspicious that he was doing. Just a random guy sitting at a relatively out-of-sight (and thus old, but everything has a price) computer. Nothing that would attract any particular attention.

He looked at the search bar again.

eating disorder _|_

It had been nagging Dean ever since Castiel had told him what Meg had done. He was positive Castiel hadn’t even scratched the surface with his description and he needed some insight of his own.

 

conditions defined by abnormal eating habits that may involve either insufficient or excessive food intake to the detriment of an individual's physical and mental health.

 

It seemed so sterile, put into black and white like this, with the fancy words all strung together. Detriment. What a simple word. Not inappropriate, but so bland. So plain.

_I was weak. I was contaminated. I was worthless. I tried harder after that._

  
  


Anorexia nervosa (AN), characterized by refusal to maintain a healthy body weight, an obsessive fear of gaining weight, and an unrealistic perception of current body weight.

_I weighed a hundred and thirty pounds. I felt worse about that than I did about my dead girlfriend. She would've liked that._

The person suffering with anorexia may be abnormally sensitive about being perceived as fat, or have a massive fear of becoming fat.

Intense fear of weight gain, obsession with weight and persistent behavior to prevent weight gain.

It typically involves excessive weight loss and is diagnosed approximately nine times more often in females than in males.

He’d lost thirteen pounds by the time Meg died, Dean recalled.

People with anorexia nervosa often view themselves as overweight or "big" even when they are already underweight.

_I felt worse about that than I did about my dead girlfriend._

They may be afraid of losing control over the amount of food they eat.

_I ate a cracker, then another, and then I drank strawberry milk. I couldn't help it._

Some of the behavioral signs can be: obsessive exercise, calorie and fat gram counting, starvation and restriction of food, self-induced vomiting, the use of diet pills, laxatives or diuretics to attempt controlling weight, and a persistent concern with body image.

_Naturally, you'd have to have something wrong with you to be able to tell someone exactly how many calories their lunch was._

They may deny hunger, make excuses to avoid eating, will often hide food they claim to have eaten, use diet pills to control appetite, or attempt to purge the food away with self-induced vomiting, or by taking laxatives.

_She'd sit with us every day and move around her food, tear apart her sandwich, claim she wasn't hungry, offer us some extra, say she'd already eaten._

Behaviors may include:

Preoccupation with  [ food ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Food) ,  [ recipes ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recipes) , or  [ cooking ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cooking) ; may cook elaborate dinners for others, but not eat the food themselves.

_offer us some extra, say she'd already eaten_

Food rituals: cuts food into tiny pieces; refuses to eat around others; hides or discards food

_tear apart her sandwich_

Consistent excuses to avoid mealtimes or situations involving food.

_She had herself a tray of food. It was completely untouched._

Denial of hunger.

_claim she wasn't hungry_

Extremely restricted eating.

_I ate less. I ate less. I ate less._

Intolerance to cold and frequent complaints of being cold. Body temperature may lower (hypothermia) in an effort to conserve energy .

_His hands were almost colder than the air._

Depression: may frequently be in a sad, lethargic state.

_His eyes were dead._

Solitude: may avoid friends and family; becomes withdrawn and secretive .

_I didn't feel like talking after a while. It was easier in the silence. It was easier in my world._

May engage in frequent, strenuous, or compulsive exercise.

_a battered body pushing to move_

Episodes of repeatedly exercising beyond the requirements of what is considered safe

 

_"Because you've been on that treadmill for the past three hours, maybe?"_

will find time at any cost to do the exercise (including cutting school, taking off from work, hiding in the bathroom and exercising, etc.).

_"I'm betting your folks are pretty interested why you're here running your ass off and not at...what was it? - 'Red Rock Cafe' working the afternoon shift."_

The main goal of the exercise can be burning calories and "relieving the guilt" from just having eaten or binged, or to give us "permission" to eat. (i.e., "I can't eat unless I've exercised or know I will exercise.")

_"You've gotta have burned, like, two thousand calories, man.”_

 

Though primarily thought of as affecting females (an estimated 5–10 million being affected in the UK), eating disorders affect males as well. An estimated 10 – 15% of people with eating disorders are males.

 

Eating disorders are the third most common chronic illness in adolescent boys.

 

Although males with eating disorders exhibit the same signs and symptoms as females, they are less likely to be diagnosed with what is often considered a female disorder.

 

Less likely to be diagnosed?!

The angles of Castiel’s ribs flashed into Dean’s mind, the bones moving visibly under the gym shirt as the boy flailed on the treadmill. His yellow-pale skin, shadows elongated under his collarbones in the gray bathroom light. The emptiness behind his blue eyes as he watched.

 

Homosexual men are at greater risk of eating disorder symptoms than heterosexual men.

42 percent of men who struggle with eating disorders identify as gay, or bisexual.

 

_"Are you gay?"_

_"Nah. No more than the next man."_

 

Complications:

 Growth retardation – height gain may slow and can stop completely with severe weight loss or chronic malnutrition. 

 Patients with anorexia nervosa often experience dizziness, headaches, drowsiness, and a lack of energy.

Anorexia nervosa, and the associated  [ malnutrition ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malnutrition)  that results from self-imposed  [ starvation ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Starvation) , can cause severe  [ complications ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Complication_\(medicine\))  in every major  [ organ system ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Organ_system)  in the body.

Bodily damage:

 **Neurological disorders** \- seizures, tremors

**Respiratory infections, kidney failure, blindness.**

**Muscle Atrophy**  - wasting away of muscle and decrease in muscle mass due to the body feeding off of itself.

**Paralysis**  - transient (or temporary) paralysis -- extreme weakness of muscles or not being able to move at all 

**Tearing of Esophagus**  - caused by self-induced vomiting

**Mallory-Weiss tear**  - associate with vomiting, a tear of the gastroesophageal junction

**Gastric Rupture**  - spontaneous stomach erosion, perforation or rupture.

**Gastrointestinal Bleeding**  - bleeding into the digestive tract

**Cancer**  of the throat and larynx due to high acidity of stomach fluids.

**Insomnia**  - having problems falling and/or staying asleep.

**Chronic Fatigue Syndrome**  - continuous and crippling fatigue related to a weakened immune system.

**Depression**  – can lead to suicide

**Pancreatitis**  - this is when the digestive enzymes attack the pancreas.

Lesions on the brain caused by long-term malnutrition and lack of oxygen-carrying cells, lung collapse; internal bleeding, [ a ](http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Acute_gastric_dilation&action=edit&redlink=1) [ cute gastric dilation ](http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Acute_gastric_dilation&action=edit&redlink=1) ,  [ infarction ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bowel_infarction)  and  [ perforation ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gastric_perforation) , fluid in the lungs, the brain swelling, nausea, vomiting, confusion, diabetes, osteoporosis, liver failure,  bad circulation, slowed or irregular heartbeat, arrhythmias, angina, heart attack, cramps, bloating, constipation, diarrhea, incontinence, comas.

**Death** (Anorexia nervosa has the highest rate of mortality of any psychological disorder.)

 

Dean stopped. His breathing had hitched. He felt sick, the same brand of sick that ghosted his insides before; intense and unavoidable.

 

People with anorexia nervosa are 18 times more likely to die early compared with people of similar age in the general population.

 

18 times. Eighteen fucking times more likely.

 

Eating disorders result in about 7,000 deaths a year as of 2010.

Seven thousand people.

Seven thousand lives, dominated by this…this…thing, Dean thought savagely. Wasted away, burnt, lost to meaning and light and thought. It was so sick. It was _terrible._

It was happening to Castiel right now.

He found himself wondering if Castiel had been right about everything. He _was_ a mess. Maybe Dean should’ve just left. There was no way he could support something like this; he couldn’t; he was Dean Winchester and this was way above his ability.

No. He would never do that.

Yes, Castiel was fucked up. Wasn’t Dean? Wasn’t every single person on this planet mangled and broken in their own little ways? Castiel might be bruised and damaged but that was not all he was.

He was not his blemishes. He was the light that shone through them, lit them up and hid them, the blue of his eyes, the grace of his gait; he was so much more than his issues and Dean wanted to find out exactly what he was without them. He wanted to know who Castiel Novak was.

He would.

Dean would also try to save him. He was pretty sensitive about that.

 

 

-

Rachel looks at me, steely. “Get on the scale.”

I give her a confused squint. “Why? What’s going on?”

 _Fuck, they’re catching up!_ Meg’s eyes are wide open and completely white, like small hard-boiled eggs in her rotting skull.

 _You’ve failed,_ Ana says loudly. _Stop her. Stop them. Stop. Don’t let this happen._

“I’m not blind, Castiel. Gabriel and I have been talking-”

fuck you.

Don’t talk. That’s stupid. Don’t fucking talk about me. Don’t think about me. I’M FINE.

Please go fuck yourselves. Go. Please. Just go. Shut the fuck up. Don’t weigh me.

_I hate you._

“-and we both think you’ve been losing too much weight. I don’t know if you’ve been eating-”

“I am!” I say loudly. “I’m fine, Mom! There’s nothing wrong with me; I haven’t even stepped on that scale for months. I’m probably still at my old weight.”

“Then show me,” she says, irate.

_I will murder you._

No. Don’t say that. You don’t hate them, you hate yourself. You’re disgusting. You can’t even love your family, can you? You’re that fucked up. Stop talking. Stop thinking. Do something. Stop them.

Gabriel’s face appears in the doorway. A sudden urge to lash out at it rises in my chest; to hit it squarely in the jaw, to make him go away; I feel such intense hatred for the both of them it’s terrifying.

 

116.8 lbs

 

I swallow hard. That’s 0.4 pounds more than before. I can feel it on my cheekbones now.

“See?” I say irritably. “I’m fine. Plus, muscle takes up less space than fat so I might look slim, but it’s really nothing.”

_Babble, babble, babble, hope they take the bait._

Gabriel hesitates for an agonizing moment.

“He seems okay,” he admits.

The sigh of relief that goes collectively through my head feels like rumbling thunder.

Gabriel sizes me up critically. “I used to be around his weight when I was his age.”

_What? You were?_

Rachel raises an eyebrow in genuine surprise. “Really?”

He shrugs. “Give or take ten pounds or something. I don’t really remember, to be honest.” He smiles at Rachel comfortingly. “It’s normal he doesn’t keep track of every single pound, Mom. Cas is fine, right, little brother?”

I do my best to crack a smile. “’Course I am. Don’t worry about me.”

_Thank you, Gabe. Thank you. Bless you. Bless you. Bless you._

“Castiel,” she says warningly as I turn to leave.

I freeze. “Yeah?” I mutter.

She fixes me with a stare that chills me to the soles of my feet; not because it’s cold but because it has a fire inside it, a desperate, grasping fire that’s barely contained. “Don’t lose another pound. Not one.”

I give her my best grin. “Of course I won’t, Mom. Why would I?”

As I walk out the bathroom, screams echo inside my head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's sources are listed below:  
> http://www.something-fishy.org/dangers/dangers.php  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anorexia_nervosa  
> http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/eating-disorders/index.shtml  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eating_disorder  
> http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/anorexia-nervosa  
> The chapter title is a line from Lights by Interpol.


	19. teach me to meet my desires with some grace

 

“So what do you want to talk about today?”

Castiel spoke in a strange tone; it almost sounded as though a wave of  _something_ was welling behind his usual curtain of apathy, stretching it like a swelling bubble, but Dean couldn’t find exactly what. Perhaps it wasn’t really any specific thing at all. Dean could see clearly that he was worse. The boy’s breathing hitched erratically- sped up at times like he couldn’t get enough air, rapid breaths that piled over each other in a silent panic; then was so quiet Dean wondered if he was still alive. He could swear he’d gotten skinnier. Shadows tainted his eyes, almost bruiselike in the bathroom light.

So Dean asked, “Have you been sleeping?”

“More or less,” he answered. “I-”

But whatever he was, it was lost as Castiel’s pupils shrunk and dilated startlingly, like a pinprick of black blood weeping into the blue, and Dean found himself instinctively reaching out-

_where to hold him?_ -

and his hand came to rest on a shoulder, gripped it tightly. Castiel didn’t seem to mind it. He made a small, lost sound in the back of his throat, then pressed his lips shut.

“You okay, man?” Dean asked finally. _Gracious, Winchester. Keep up the good work and you might even get an apprenticeship from John one day._

“Yes,” the other answered without hesitation, and Dean was sure he’d hit the barrier for a long, silent moment until Castiel spoke in a low voice, resigned.

“You know what’s wrong with me, don’t you?”

“You told me,” Dean reminded him.

“Not explicitly,” he countered.

Dean nodded. Castiel sighed.

“You won’t ever mention it.”

“No,” Dean agreed. “I won’t.”

Steely blue eyes latched onto his gaze, and Dean wondered how they could turn so cutting from such a bled out desperation in a matter of seconds.

“Promise.”

“I promise,” he said.

Castiel inhaled and nodded once.

Dean paused, considered doing it, decided against it and spoke anyway. “When did you last eat, Cas?”

“Yesterday evening,” he muttered blandly.

“Oh,” Dean managed. “That’s about twenty hours.”

“So?”

“That’s far too long.”

“People starve for much longer. I’ve gone for much longer. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not!” Dean said exasperatedly. “ _You deserve to eat_ , Castiel! You’re not fine, you’re sick!”

Castiel’s nostrils flared. “You don’t need to stick around. I already told you to leave.”

Dean shook his head in frustration. “This is not about me! I’m not slowly killing myself!”

“Nobody needs me!” The words were searing heat and pain. “You’d all be so much better off without me and you know that. Nobody needs my pain. Nobody needs my weakness. I shouldn’t be here, I’m a mess, a fucking selfish broken toy.” He breathed in shakily. “This, this thing we have, it’s wrong! I’m going to hurt you, hurt you bad, and you shouldn’t care enough to allow me to do that!”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Dean spat, anger licking at him again. “Don’t you dare tell me how much I’m allowed to care about you.”

“I’m not going to be Meg,” Castiel said furiously. “I’m never, ever letting anyone else go through this shit. Ever. Please just go. I’ll break you.” He looked down at the floor. “Only if you start giving a shit, which I know you don’t and you shouldn’t, either.”

Dean balled a fist. “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” he whispered. “That’s what’s terrible.”

“Cas,” Dean said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Castiel insisted.

“I’m much more fucked up than you think,” Dean promised wryly.

“Why damage yourself further?” he asked.

“You know,” Dean admitted, “I don’t know yet. But I do know that you’re not going to break me. You can be sure of that.”

“Oh, god,” Cas muttered. “This was all so much easier in the cafe, wasn't it?”

“Yeah,” Dean allowed. “We should do that again sometime.”

“Is tomorrow good?” Cas asked timidly. Dean nodded. He didn't feel like smiling in here.

“Dean,” the boy said after a while.

“Yes?” Dean replied calmly.

“You can’t try to fix me,” Cas said tensely. “That’s not going to work.”

“I’m not expecting it to,” Dean answered solidly. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to watch you die.”

“Nobody said you had to,” Castiel muttered.

“There has to be some part of you that doesn’t want to die,” Dean said, almost desperately.

“There is,” Cas agreed. “They’ve buried it.”

-

 

He still wants me.

_Why do you even talk with him?_ Meg asks me curiously. 

_I don’t know,_ I admit.  _It’s not making anything better. If anything it makes him sadder. Or maybe it does; I don’t know if he cares that much._

_Yeah, and what’s up with that?_ Meg says. I feel like a teenage girl at a slumber party being grilled by her girlfriends over an odd choice of crush, or an ill-picked sweater-and-skirt combination. The only thing missing is a cute shade of nail polish and maybe a few plush pillows.  _Why do you so want him to care?_

_I think I’m lonely,_ I muse.  _I really am._

_You like him pitying you,_ she states.

I shake my head vigorously.  _No. I don’t want to be pitied. Never._

_But you need someone to appreciate the pain you’re going through. You want to feel like a martyr._

_Don’t be stupid, Meg,_ I say.  _I’m not you, and I’m not your skewed sense of self-appropriation, and I never will be._

_Then what the hell do you think you’re doing?_

_Maybe I like the thought that someone might actually think I deserve to be cared for,_ I reply coolly. 

_Wow,_ she says.  _And I thought you couldn’t be more pitiful._

_Yeah,_ I say sarcastically.  _And this is coming from someone who actually fucked up a life so she could feel superior._

She’s unfazed.  _I’m not denying it._

I ignore her. Right now, I’m hungry. Very, very hungry.

_It’s been six hours. You had breakfast with Rachel._

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.

_Weak,_ Ana hisses.

_Oh, yes, he is,_ Meg agrees.  _But he’s not going to eat._ She turns to me with a smile on her face.  _Are you really thinking of eating? Really? Do you honestly want to?_

_No, not really,_ I admit.  _But I’m so hungry._

_That’s the point. Why would you eat when you’re hungry? And you’re not_ really  _hungry, that’s impossible. You’re succumbing to your appetite and you’ll regret it._

I eye the vending machine timidly. It looks huge.

Snickers bar <296> Cheetos package <200> Lay’s chips <213> M&Ms <233> Hershey’s milk chocolate <210>

_I can’t eat these._ I feel myself back away slowly, recede back into my shell.  _None of these._

_I knew you wouldn’t. There is something you can have there, though._

I stare at the water. It’s fogged up and sedentary, right between the packs of Twix and the Musketeers.

The draft in the hall brushes past my skin. I can see the hair on my arms standing straight up.

_Cold is good. Drink your water and hold your fast._

_The water’s too cold,_ I argue.  _It makes me cold._

_That’s the whole point!_ Ana screams.  _Cold water burns calories._

I grit my teeth and press the button on the vending machine. The bottle drops into the slot.

I don’t even want to bend over, it’s too cold.

_It’s barely December. You already aren’t working out because of that stupid tear on your stomach. You’re thinking of eating voluntarily while Rachel feeds you like a fucking milk pig, and now you’re deciding you can’t take the cold? You’ve really spiraled downward since I died. Maybe you deserve to be fat after all._

_No!_ My fingernails dig into my stupid soft arms.  _I’d freeze to death before I gained an ounce. You know that._

_Then do,_ she snarls.

“Fuck,” I say under my breath. The bottle turns upside down.

Cold washes down my throat, numbing my stomach and prickling my skin, one, two three four five, perfect rhythm, the bottle must end, it’s cold, drink it all up!

_OUCH!_

Something inside me twists so suddenly I’m afraid my intestines have decided to strangle my stomach. I keep drinking, I don’t know what else to do.

The bottle is empty, I am a glacier, and I do believe my organs have knotted together.

Breathe, breathe, deep and hold. Count to three. Long, exhale. Just breathe.

_I need to get to a bathroom._

_There’s one at the end of the hall,_ Meg says quietly.

I don’t really remember getting there before I am there, standing before the mirror, anger pooling in my chest, because  _why can’t it just be motherfucking warmer?_

_Just piss_ , Meg advises. This I do. The tap water is arctic, and I wipe my hands on my pants; there’s no alternative except the hand dryer, which I never use.

I think the realization hits both of us simultaneously.

_Oh, no, no, no_ \- Meg starts, but I cut her off easily. 

_You can’t be thinking of doing this._

_Watch me,_ I say.

There happens to be a very convenient alcove underneath the dryer. Convenient enough for me to just fold myself into it.

I bring my hand up to the sensor and,  _oh_ .

Roaring warm gusts of air rush into my face, filter under my shirts and behind my neck and it actually burns my skin in places. It’s incredible. I haven’t felt this in ages.

_And you don’t deserve it!_ Ana says sharply.  _You’re not even getting warmer!_

She’s right, naturally. I can’t stop sticking my limbs and chest under the flow one after another, but whenever they leave the haven of warm air it’s even colder than before. It’s not heating me, but now I can’t stop because if I do I’ll shiver even more.

_Weak bastard._

It feels too damn good, even over the guilt.

_You really don’t have any self control at all, do you?_ Meg says wearily.

This is a low blow. It’s one of the only things I pride myself on, my willpower, and she knows that better than anyone.

_This is why I never trust you with your own shit,_ she continues.  _You get the tiniest bit of nourishment- enough to sustain you, enough you don’t faint or have a seizure or any other fucked up thing- and then you STOP. But you? It’s never like that with you. You start eating and you don’t know where to stop, how or when to just leave it. You try to get warm, and you can’t extract yourself. You’re so weak I can’t believe it._

There is no way to counter that. I know only that yes, she is absolutely right in everything she has just said, fact for fact. I don’t amount to shit.

_Waste of my fucking time_ . 

I shut my eyes, smush my palms into them, drive my knuckles into my face. My fingers could be icicles.

_I just hope your boyfriend doesn’t make the same mistake I did,_ she mutters.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Lights.


	20. i know what my heart is for

 

#  'Love hormone' may treat anorexia

**A hormone released during childbirth and sex could be used as a treatment for the eating disorder anorexia nervosa, scientists suggest.**

Small studies by UK and Korean scientists indicated patients were less likely to fixate on food and body image after a dose of oxytocin.

About one in every 150 teenage girls in the UK are affected by the condition.

...

Oxytocin is a hormone released naturally during bonding, including sex, childbirth and breastfeeding.

It has already been suggested as a treatment for a range of psychiatric disorders, and has been shown to [help lower social anxiety in people with autism](http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-25184078).

And one four-week study in Australia found people given doses of oxytocin had reduced weight and shape concerns.

...

People with anorexia have previously been found to focus for longer on images of overweight people and what they perceive as undesirable body shapes.

However after taking oxytocin, patients with anorexia were less likely to focus on such "negative" images of food and fat body parts.

...

It has been suggested that anorexia can be linked to a heightened perception of threat, and animal research has shown oxytocin treatment lessened the amount of attention paid to threatening facial expressions.

In this study, patients with anorexia were less likely to focus on the "disgust" faces after oxytocin treatment.

They were also less likely to avoid looking at angry faces.

...

"Brain chemistry and hormonal factors are part of the mix, with adrenaline, dopamine and the various appetite regulating hormones such as ghrelin being active areas for researchers as well as this research looking at the hormone oxytocin.

"We know that there is much that still needs to be understood about the biological basis for eating disorders.

"We are hopeful that this research will lead to a new, effective treatments being designed, but it is early days yet."

Love as a cure for Castiel’s eating disorder?

Dean slumped back in his seat, foot beating anxiously against the carpeting. It was just too perfect an arrangement.

_**Hold up, Dean. Slow down. What exactly do you mean by that?** _

Dean grit his teeth.  _Don’t make me say it._

_**Say what? You’re in love with him? Is that what you mean?** _

_NO_ , Dean thought forcefully.  _I am not in love with Castiel Novak. I like him a lot. I like him more than I thought I ever would._

_**You’re attracted to him. Isn’t that why you approached him in the first place? To get to know him better?** _

_Partially,_ Dean admitted gruffly.  _Is this important?_

_**Yes, because you sound like you’re going to fuck something up if you don’t think through this.** _

Dean sighed inwardly.

_**Then tell me. Why else would you take notice of him?** _

_It was how he looked at first, yes._ Dean was almost shocked at how defensive and spiny he was against his own thoughts. Almost. He knew himself too well to be completely surprised.  _Don’t ask me what I thought of him, I know you know and I’m not saying it again._

_**You’re the one repeating yourself. I asked you what else prompted you to your...unorthodox investigations.** _

_Big words from The Holy Inward Winchester._

_**Shut the fuck up and get your shit together.** _

_That’s more like it,_ Dean thought grimly, and then hurried on before he could scold himself again.  _He was striking, and I wanted to meet him, I remember thinking it, I wasn’t even...you know, interested like that, at the first moment. I felt a strange urge to spend time with him, learn who he was, strike up a conversation, be his friend._

_**Just his friend?** _

_I didn’t think he’d want to be anything more. I didn’t know if I wanted anything more._

_**Then what happened?** _

Dean closed his eyes, a chill running down his spine.

_Then I really saw him._

_**And?** _

_And it scared me. It scared me a lot._

_**If you were that scared you would have run away.** _

_I was that scared. I was just curious enough to keep me there._

_**You wanted to know what he was really doing to himself.** _

_Yes._

_**And then he made you an offer you couldn’t refuse.** _

_I was an asshole to him at first,_ Dean realized.  _I used the fact that I knew he was hiding something to get him to do things for me._

_**What did you have in mind?** _

_Not this. Not prostitution. I just wanted answers._

_**He’d realized more than you’d accounted for, though.** _

_I guess I was pretty obvious, myself. He could have just left it there, you know? An eye for an eye. I keep quiet, he keeps quiet._

_**Yet he offered to blow you instead.** _

_He needed the money,_ Dean told himself as convincingly as possible. 

_**He could have gotten it some other way** _ _._

_What are you trying to tell me, that he- that the_ thing _was mutual? He said he wasn’t gay._

_**No, he didn’t. He just didn’t confirm it.** _

_That’s what you think._

_**Fine. Stick to your opinion, just tell me why he came clean to you about his problems. Why you?** _

_I’m a convenient outlet. Cas probably hadn’t spoken to another human being of his own accord in months._

_**Why** _ **you** _**?** _

_Jesus, ask_ him _. We’re supposed to be talking about ME right now._

_**Okay then, tell me what’s up with the nickname.** _

_Castiel is a mouthful._ Dean paused.  _He seemed to like it._

_**You’re both so stupid,** _ **the voice sighed tiredly.**

_Thanks, man._

_**Look. Let’s get back to the point here.** _

_There’s absolutely no way Cas falls in love with me._

_**Say you’re right. There must be other ways to trigger oxytocin production.** _

Dean leaned forward quickly and tapped at the keyboard.

how to activate oxytocin |

**How to increase oxytocin levels naturally**

Ingestion of food triggers oxytocin release by activation of vagal afferent nerves.

That was going to complicate things. Dean passed on.

Most likely, it can also be released by stimulation of other senses such as olfaction, as well as by certain types of sound and light.

Smells, sounds and light. Dean could try that.

In addition, purely psychological mechanisms can trigger the release. This means that positive interaction involving touch and psychological support are health-promoting.

_How am I going to support him?_

_**Listen**_ , the voice said wisely, and Dean didn’t question further for once.

As time goes on some couples become less intimate. But activities that release oxytocin, such as really looking into another person's eyes, holding hands, kissing and having sex could help restore the connection.

Ah. He’d hit the sticky spot.

Also known as the "cuddle" hormone, oxytocin is released by both men and women at sexual orgasm.

He wouldn’t push it, ever. He didn’t even know if he would want this. He shouldn’t.

Kissing is a antidepressant drug as it releases oxytocin naturally into your body helping decrease stress and can help control cholesterol levels **.**

_**It’s worth a shot. Talk to him about it.** _

Dean liked the idea more than he wanted to admit. He wanted to be with Castiel. He wanted Castiel more than he could bear.

_**You don’t need to admit it. I already know.** _

_****_

__

_**-** _

 

I look down at the apple in my hands.

You’re not going to eat it, Ana warns.

I can’t lose more weight. I need to maintain.

Seventy calories? Right. That’s three packaged cookies. That’s cups and cups of cucumber, thirty five portions of arugula, three lollipops, almost twenty strawberries, it’s cabbage and watermelon and spinach and tomato. And guess what? You don’t NEED IT. You’re not going to grow on an apple. It’s sugar. It’s fructose.

I lower my hand slowly. The apple hangs loosely from my fingers.

Ana slaps it away.

Eat it now.

I stare at the red globe roll on the floor.

You deserve to eat.  The first time anyone ever told me that. Dean told me that. 

It was a lie.

Then I liked it. And you fucking know what? I’m going to listen to it.

Ana sighs.  He never learns,  she whispers to Meg, who is simply watching from her perch, mocking.

The cafeteria smells so much like grease and food that I feel stupid even walking in. Everyone seems to be looking at me. This is so wrong.

Seriously, what are you gonna eat? Meg taunts.  Grilled cheese sandwiches? A burger? Pizza? Don’t motherfucking make me laugh.

She’s too right to counter.

I spot the rolls in the bread basket. Meg raises an eyebrow.

Carbs? Honestly? 130 calories of starch and fat and flour, yes, amazing idea.

I’ll just eat half.

They’re serving green beans too.

Yeah, cooked green beans.

Nope, I can’t eat that. The thought of eating something that was not cooked by me makes me want to throw up; but then, eating anything makes me want to throw up.

Then don’t.

I want to give up. I want to leave this place and not eat, ever, and just shut the voices in my head down and sleep forever.

Somebody places their tray on the lunch counter on my left.

“You can do it,” he whispers, and I almost break down.

“I can’t,” I tell Dean urgently. “I can’t eat anything here.”

Dean glances at the menu, which, apart from soggy green beans, includes tater tots (cringe), various options of soda (never), and nuggets (don’t even mention them).

Thank God I’m so late for lunch, there’s nobody pushing us down the line. Well, there’s the lunch lady, who’s been giving us the evil eye for some time.

This is not an advantage. Don’t waste calories on shitty food. Just don’t eat.

“I’ve got Greek yogurt,” Dean says. “Is that going to be okay?”

“It’s sugar,” I whimper.

“It’s better than plain bread,” he points out.

“But the bread is already too much,” I say. “Bread with yogurt is going to be almost two hundred and fifty and that’s not good.”

“You can do it,” he insists. “Come on, you can sit with us.”

“Us?” I say, but it comes out more like a squeak. Dean’s already moving towards a table in the right end of the cafeteria that I never had reason to notice before. There are two others sitting there right now; the pretty blonde whose house I woke up in, and a long-haired boy with an unusually focused expression on his face as he stares at his nuggets. The girl’s eyes widen comically when she spots me tagging along with Dean.

“Hey,” Dean greets them casually.

“Hey,” the boy replies with some disinterest, his gaze just barely flitting over Dean before it comes to rest on me. He winks. I blink.

“Ash,” he introduces himself. “This princess is Jo.”

Jo pokes him lightly with a fork. “Hi,” she says to me.

I tell them quietly that my name is Castiel.

Dean plunks down his tray and I draw a chair, which scrapes far too loudly.

“You got anything interesting today, Winchester?” Jo chirps, staring eagerly at the lunchbox Dean’s toting along with his food. He flips it open dramatically.

“I present to you,” he says, holding up a huge chunky cookie, “Mama Winchester’s very own chocolate chip heaven.”

“Lucky bastard,” Ash says matter-of-factly.

Dean grins at him and takes out the cup of yogurt from the box, then gently places it in front of me without a word and continues talking to Jo like it’s the most natural thing ever. I eye it wanly. I can’t back down now.

The bread tastes good. Really good. At least, the first bite does.

Not so good anymore, huh?  Meg sneers when I try the second time. No, it’s not. It’s dry and I don’t want it anymore. I plop open the yogurt.

Wow, it’s sweet.

Too sweet. It’s far too tasty. That can’t be anything good.

Why am I eating? I’ve changed my mind!

My hand dips the bread in the yogurt. My hand brings it to my mouth. My mind screams no. My mind screams yes.

You’re a phony, you spineless little shit.

“Cas.”

Dean’s watching me.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly.

Jo and Ash are absorbed in their conversation. Nobody must hear this.

“It’s not, it’s too much and I can’t stop.”

“You don’t need to. It’s not too much.”

“I feel terrible.”

“I’m proud of you,” he declares. “You’re so brave, Cas, and you don’t see it.”

He doesn’t know what an absolute lack of control I am now.

“You're the strongest person I know, Cas, the strongest I have ever known.”

He doesn't know how weak I am right at this moment.

“Just a few days ago you’d starve for ages. Now look at you, you’re eating three meals a day!”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Bad idea, Dean.

He knows how much I eat. He knows what an absolute whale I am. He doesn’t think there is anything wrong with me. Maybe there isn’t, like Meg says, and I’m a fake. I should be sicker than this.

“Dean!”

“Yeah?” Dean says to Ash, who’s giving us what he seems to think is a winning smile. In his hand is a perfect Honeycrisp apple.

“What do you say I give you this beautiful piece of fruit for some of that cookie you have there?”

“Well,” Dean replies in a contemplative tone, “I don’t know. Would I get my product’s worth? This is a rather fine specimen.”

“Try stealing it,” Jo advises Ash through a mouthful of potatoes.

Dean gives her a look. “You don’t need to, because my mother wrapped up extra. She knows what greedy little fucks I deal with.”

“She is literally Mary the Blessed,” Ash enthuses, snatching the cookie from Dean’s grasp.

“Too bad she’s not a virgin,” Jo says saucily, also reaching across for one.

“Oh, Joanna Beth,” Ash sighs dramatically. “Is that really the way to talk to your lord and savior Deanus Christ?”

“Can I have the apple?” I say loudly.

I just want the voices in my head to shut up.

Oh, not again.

“Sure,” Ash says easily. Dean’s eyes trail from the empty bread wrapper to the eaten yogurt to my outstretched hand. That hurts.

He must be so disgusted.

He thinks I eat now.

I focus on the apple in my palm.

I’m already polluted enough, this won’t make a difference.

Oh, idiot, Meg breathes.

The apple is crunchy. I can’t taste it.

“I’m stuffed,” Jo announces, one measly quarter of her tray eaten.

So am I.

I hate it.

  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's sources are:  
> http://www.raysahelian.com/oxytocin.html  
> http://www.bbc.com/news/health-26543427  
> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Specialist.


	21. we can find new ways of living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy filler chapter with not much triggering material. Actually, Cas has a very nice win.

 

“You drew this?” Dean said, looking from the page to Castiel and back again. “This is fucking incredible, Cas! I didn't know you could do this!”

“Well, you don't know everything I do,” Castiel replied, cocking an eyebrow. He was sucking iced water through a straw.

“Why do you keep drinking that?” Dean asked him, looking at the glass in disgust. “You're cold enough, just leave it.”

“I can't,” Cas answered. “It burns calories.”

“Bullshit,” Dean said shortly. “It tortures you. Leave it.”

Castiel stared at the water. He swallowed. He stared. A hand clenched into a fist.

Dean reached across the table and took it, Cas' eyes flickering to his in surprise. “Don't,” he coaxed him. “Do you care what I think?”

“I might.” Cas stopped. “I do. A lot.”

“Then stop drinking that. I'll like you if you don't. Perhaps even more.”

The boy clenched his jaw. His right arm shook, and shook, and suddenly his elbow connected with the glass and it went flying to the ground.

“You're stronger than I thought,” Dean said, amazed, as the waitress cleaned it up sourly.

“I tend to surprise people,” Cas answered, face paler than before.

 

-

 

“I read,” Dean admits.

I roll my eyes, trying not to think about what I've just accomplished. “Everyone reads. What you read is the big deal.”

“Vonnegut. Palahnuik.”

“Seriously?” I didn't expect that at all.

“What, do I look too stupid?” Dean counters, affronted.

“Of course not. It's not about intelligence, anyway. I like to think what counts is good taste.”

“You should have known I've got good enough taste,” Dean says. “Now tell me what you read before I get all pissy.”

“Gaiman,” I answer thoughtfully. “Among others.”

“You read Good Omens?” Dean asks, interested.

“I didn't like that one much,” I confess. “I didn't like how it was written, to be honest. It didn't seem to have a decent plotline, you know? It started out all amusing and great and then it twisted so much, I couldn't like it.'

“I've heard of that one,” Dean says. “Ash used to worship that book.”

“Why did he stop?”

“Jo told him to stuff it. He complied after a few adequate threats.”

I snort in spite of myself. “I prefer American Gods. I love that one.”

“I don't know it,” Dean shakes his head. “Care to enlighten me?”

“I don't even know where to start,” I laugh.

“The beginning's always a good option.”

“So, there's this guy called Shadow who's in prison-”

“His name is Shadow?” Dean seems impressed. “Badass and weird.”

“It's a perfect name!” I protest indignantly. “Better than mine.”

“Are you kidding?” He lets out his breath slowly. “Your name's beautiful.”

“I was named after the angel of Thursday,” I tell him. “It literally means, my cover is God. I don't even fucking believe in God.”

“Neither do I,” Dean admits. “Cas, have you realized that we meet on Thursdays?”

I consider this. “I never noticed.”

“I like Thursday,” Dean says softly. “I like you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Obstacle One.


	22. i see my face has changed

The whole cafeteria is oblivious. They don’t know, they don’t realize, nobody sees the miracle that’s happening under their very noses and it frustrates the hell out of me. Not even Dean. He doesn’t understand how hard it is, he doesn’t seem able to. I want to shove my plate in their faces and scream,  _look! I am eating on my own! Don’t you see what pain this really is?_

_No,_ Meg says irritably.  _Nobody gives a flying fuck. I told you that a dozen times._

I’m eating this one portion and I’m not going back for more. I can control myself.

_You think two cucumbers is going to change anything? Just look at the facts. It isn’t filling you up. It won’t give you energy. It will break your fast. It won’t make you grow. So why would you eat?_

I take a tiny bite and watch Jo and Ash thumb wrestle over their half eaten cheese sliders. Dean watches them with a small lazy smile on his face.

“Ha!” Ash proclaims, victorious. “I triumph!”

“My comeback will be fierce,” Jo vows darkly. The effect is slightly ruined by the carton of baby pink strawberry milk she’s vengefully sucking on.

“Just as soon as you consult with your satanic overlord,” Dean reminds her helpfully. “You can splash the altar with the blood of a thousand genetically engineered strawberries. I’ve heard it works better than virgin.”

“Is that so?” she says while Ash laughs. “Lucky for you, then, Ash, they’ve found a safer alternative.”

Dean spits out some of his milk. I have to admit it’s funny. Jo eyes me for a moment before she speaks.

“You know, Cas, your face actually has a bit of color now,” she says happily. “Livelier and fuller and all.”

and then I just-

stop.

_stop._

“Fuller?” I repeat.

“Yeah!” She’s brimming with enthusiasm. “I mean, it used to be like-” she sucks in her cheeks as far as she can- “but now at least there’s some flesh on your face.”

_Everyone notices,_ Ana says venomously.  _You fat, fat, fat idiot._

She smiles at me so genuinely it grinds my heart. That is not the face of a liar. She honestly believes what she says.

I want to wrap my hands around a throat and not let go for quite a while.

Preferably my throat.

But then, Meg's already doing that.

Tomorrow is a fast. The day after is a fast. I will never eat.

 

-

 

“You know she didn’t mean it that way,” Dean insisted.

Cas gave him a dead look. “I don’t care how she meant it. She said it. I should have known better than to eat.”

“Cas, do you know why our bodies gain fat?”

“We take in more calories than we burn.”

Goddamn, how could someone sound so expressionless and broken at the same time?

“No,” Dean said firmly. “That’s wrong. Your body is storing up, and the only way to get over it is to eat regularly and stop starving. Your metabolism is fucked up.”

“Right,” Cas said bitterly. “Got it.”

Dean hesitated. “You’re pissed at me.”

Castiel shook his head in a kind of weariness that made Dean feel stupid as hell. “No, no, no,” he almost moaned. “This is not about you. Stop turning it into that, please, just don’t. You’re doing a huge lot for me already. I know what you told me, okay? Better than anyone. But- just-” He sighs. “It doesn’t work like that.”

Dean huffed in frustration. “So you’re just going to take it? Not eat? Exercise yourself to collapse? Castiel, how long do you honestly believe you can keep this up?”

“Stop,” Castiel snapped, and Dean stopped. “I’m sorry, but there are some things- do you even know the size of what I did that day? You don’t because you can’t and you know what? I’m fucking grateful you can’t because you shouldn’t ever have to. Do you know the amount of pain I went through because I ate that apple? Because I ate a cucumber? The willpower it took? And you know what I got in return? I GOT FAT! I GOT SO FUCKING FAT AND IT’S NOT FAIR! IT’S NOT FAIR!”

And Dean Winchester had no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel mumbled.

“I wish I could make it better,” Dean said, almost to himself.

The boy scratched his forearm nervously, roughly, almost compulsively, like he was punishing himself- or something inside him was- and Dean was near intervention when he spoke.

“Be careful what you waste a wish on.”

“It wouldn’t be a waste.”

The eyes caught Dean’s, wide open and so innocent it shocked Dean how much pain they’d really gone through.

“You do. You help more than I could imagine.”

“Is that why you talk to me?” Dean said halfheartedly.

“It’s why I try not to,” Cas corrected him. “And fail.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Say Hello To The Angels.


	23. you fly straight into my heart

 

I don’t think I devote enough time to watching Dean Winchester speak. There should be hours in which I simply take it all in; his cheekbones (I can’t decide whether I envy them or admire them more), his eyes- green eyes I don’t know a word for- and his limbs, the way he talks, the way he laughs and broods and most of all the way he looks at me like he’s doing now.

_You’re sinking._

“Will you listen to something I found online a few days ago?” Dean asks, breaking eye contact. I don’t know how many minutes have passed with us just staring at each other and it seems to have overwhelmed him. That makes me feel like shit.

_He just doesn’t WANT you, get fucking used to it!_

_He fucking told me he liked me!_

I hate Meg so much for being the embodiment- the voice- to everything I fear, every shred of self-doubt that’s ever been with me, and for doing it even after her death; just going on torturing me for ever and ever. I hate myself for keeping her around. I hate that I’m afraid to let her go, really, just like I’m scared to let Ana go, or start eating or stop eating, and it all comes down to me and I really should just hate myself and stop being angry with other things. I definitely should not be angry with Dean. He has every single right.

“It was an article,” Dean continues. “About eating disorder treatment.”

_Oh, here it comes._

“Just hear me out,” he says quickly when I open my mouth. “You...uh, you’re probably going to say it’s ridiculous anyway. Just give me a chance.” He looks so damn nervous. I feel as much.

“There’s a hormone called oxytocin.”

_No._ Meg snorts.  _You have got to be kidding me; that isn’t possible._

“I know it,” I say breathlessly. Of course I know it.

_Hours and hours spent in the library devouring one book after another. You must be smarter. Wiser. You should know better._

_The only way to prove your worth in black and white is numbers._

_Information, she whispers, lips moving against my ear. Knowledge is control. Control is power._

_Her tongue laps at the shell, tugs at the lobe, breath gusting against my skin._

_And it’s a nice distraction, isn’t it?_

It’s the love hormone.

Dean looks almost guilty. “You do? You do. Fuck. Uhm, then I think you’ve guessed what I’m getting at here.”

Have I? But that’s...not possible.

Why would Dean want...me? Because- that’s just-

_Lunacy?_ Meg supplies.

“I don’t think I’m letting myself believe it,” I say, my throat rough. “I’ve got issues like that.”

Dean swallows. Parts his lips and presses them together. Waits. Tries again. “Ugh,” he groans. “Why am I such shit at this?”

“What about oxytocin?” I prompt.

“Apparently it has a numbing effect,” he says carefully. “It, um, helps you focus on different things than body image. At least, that’s what it said.”

“Okay,” I say simply.

He blinks. “Okay?”

“Yes. Okay. It’s a better deal than anything,” I say bluntly. “I’m not eating, I’m spending time with you, and at least it can’t hurt to try. But.” I pause. “I will be insecure. So right now, I need you to be completely open with me. Are you simply doing this to cure me in some way, or are you genuinely attracted to me?”

“Will it make a difference?” he says, almost like he’s in pain. I feel my stomach sink in a very non-food related way. _He’s just avoiding saying no._

“Yes,” I say forcefully. “It will, because if you’re just going to make out with me or fuck me or whatever you’re planning to get some guilt off your chest, it’s not going to work. I’m not your outlet.”

“I’m not- what are you talking about? I’m doing this for you!” He looks really insulted and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. “I don’t need to justify your eating disorder to myself.” He shuts his eyes, squeezes them, and reopens them slowly. They latch on mine.

“Castiel Novak, yes. I am attracted to you. And sometimes, I just wish you were closer and less scared and eligible and mine. I like you. I don't know what else to say.”

_Fuck._

“Okay?” he asks, and suddenly Dean doesn’t seem so implacable anymore. He just feels...there, scared and breathing and alive and warm and _real_ instead of a body of bones and rotting organs and a poisoned, decaying mind. 

The word that comes to mind is beautiful. Dean Winchester is beautiful.  _And he wants me._

I walk forward, and without letting myself hesitate, I kiss him for the first time.

 

-

 

Dean just went with it, heart fluttering embarrassingly but that didn’t matter anymore; he didn’t honestly care. Cas was softer than he would have guessed, molded against his chest this way, and it was the normalcy in it that was part of how stunning the kiss was. It felt so easy, right, almost like Cas was a part of him with his lips pliant and moving against Dean’s in such perfect imperfection. They broke apart and kissed and broke apart again between irregular draws of breath, Cas’ arms wrapped around Dean’s shoulders- and it was as good a time as any to appreciate how Dean had never realized he was taller than the other boy- and Dean’s circling Cas’s back and waist in turn to gently tether him there.

Cas was the one to break the kiss. It wasn’t nearly as sudden as he had initiated it, more like two drops of water splitting on a window after heavy rainfall, fluid and dreamlike, and Dean let him go. The boy stepped back, pupils large and dazed and never leaving Dean’s, both of them breathing heavily.

“I can get used to this,” Cas laughed shakily after a moment.

Dean nodded empathically, swallowing.

Cas chewed the inside of his cheek, eyes drifting away vaguely in that way Dean hated. “Dean,” he said seriously. “We’ve got to make something clear.”

Dean fought the urge to sigh. “Yes?” he answered measuredly.

“If it ever...if you ever stop, feeling, what you feel, the deal has got to be off. You should do it because you want to, not because you have to. You’re not shackled to me. You still have the choice to run.”

“I know,” Dean said. “I know I do and I always will. I’m not ever going to be completely yours, you can’t expect me to be.”

“I always knew that,” Cas sighed, his voice cracked slightly.

“Let me finish!” Dean exclaimed. “I want you to remember that I know I am free. I choose to be here, I am right now actively making the decision to stay with you.”

“It’s going to change,” Cas warned. “You’re going to realize what I am, and I’m selfish to be afraid of that.”

“Shut up, Castiel,” Dean advised. “That is utter bullshit.”

“My whole existence is bullshit.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not bullshit to me.”

“You deserve-”

“What I deserve and what I want are different things,” Dean interrupted. “You’re better than I am and I still want you.” He paused. “You don’t know about my family, I never told you. I never really had the chance.”

“Sorry,” Cas muttered.

“Stop apologizing and let me tell you before I change my mind,” Dean suggested helpfully.

Castiel shut his mouth and waited expectantly.

“My father,” Dean began, “is basically an asshole. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a good man, but he’s shit at being a dad. I’ve got a perfect little brother, Sammy, and...and I love him, I really do. He’s my baby brother, he’s smart and successful and he’s gonna get into Stanford one day, get an education, be someone.”

“You can do that,” Cas intervened.

“Me?” Dean scoffed. “I’m no good for anything. All I do is work on my car and that’s about the size of my contribution to this world.”

“Did your father tell you that?” Castiel countered cuttingly. “You’re smart, I’d know if you weren’t. You’ve got to stop inhibiting yourself.”

“Maybe,” Dean allowed halfheartedly, but he knew Castiel didn’t buy it. He plowed on. “Sam is the pride of our family. I’ve been looking after him since he was a kid, and now he’s older and he can do things on his own. He’s got friends, he’s got a life ahead of him. Dad wants him to have one.” He huffed out a strange laugh. “Sometimes I think the reason Dad loves Sam this much is that he’s kind of like his do-over kid, compensation for the failure I am.”

“That’s wrong,” Castiel said immediately. Dean motioned for him to wait.

“Dad has strong opinions. About everything. He’s got this nice cardboard box he looks at the world through and he won’t take his head out of it. Everything is either right or wrong and his way is his criteria for it.” He hesitated. “I remember when I was four- Sam was just a baby- I’d gone through Mom’s makeup on a night she left her stuff out. I’d seen her do it before and I wanted to try it. It felt nice to paint my face. It felt like I was someone else, much easier to pretend I was. And then Dad burst in. He was mad. He yelled at my mother to clean me up and that I needed to learn what I was supposed to be soon or he’d teach me. Mom was so worked up she forgot something in the oven in her panic to get the makeup off. Our house almost burnt down. Dad blamed me. He was right.”

“He was NOT!” Cas said incredulously. “That is not- what the fuck? Dean, that is not true. I hate him for doing that to you. You were a kid. That’s what kids do, they play around, they try to discover themselves. Who the hell does he think he is?”

“My father,” Dean answered grimly. “He’s pretty invested in that.” He took a deep breath. “Another thing he is? Homophobic. Homophobic as fuck. I don’t know how I realized I wasn’t normal like he intended me to be, whether I knew it when I was four or if I’ve even really accepted it now. All I’m sure of is that if he knew I wouldn’t be under our roof for another second. But you know? I was happy for a time, when I was dating a boy. He was my secret, and he accepted me. He was like me. He wanted me. And then, apparently, he didn’t, or he wouldn’t have gotten fucked by some senior at a fucking high school party. I was so pathetic to even think he would feel anything. Now I look back on it, I don’t even know if I felt anything for him either. Maybe it was the thrill of having the kind of relationship I wanted for the first time in my life. Maybe I liked him more than I should have. I don’t know, but he managed to hurt me.” He looked at the floor intensely. “I don’t believe you would do that to me.”

“I would never,” Cas breathed, “but I hate him for what he did to you, and I know I shouldn’t say this but I hate your father too and you just deserved so much more out of life and, damn it.”

“I know,” Dean said simply.

Cas looked scandalized. “It wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault.”

“I know that too,” he admitted. “You know it’s not the same as believing it.”

“I want you to believe it.”

“I do too. I’m more fucked up than you would think.”

“That’s why I keep telling you this,” Cas pled. “I don’t want to break you further.”

“You’re not going to break me,” Dean said. “Just don’t die. That would hurt quite a bit.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interpol's Pioneer To The Falls is the song for the chapter title.


	24. if you must leave, then go!

 

_I wonder what he’s doing now. If he’s in pain, if he’s eaten today, if he’s tired or cold or sad. If he’s thinking of me, too. If he’s fighting the voices in his head, and if he’s winning. I want him to. I want him to be happy. I want to be happy._

“Dean.”

Dean started. “Hm?”

John eyed him suspiciously. “You look distant.”

“No, I’m fine,” he assured his father, picking up his fork again. John didn’t stop staring at him.

“What were you thinking about?” he shot at Dean.

_My catatonic sex-toy love-joy diver._

“Nothing,” Dean shrugged.

“Yesterday was Thursday. That’s your workout day or something, right?” John said, voice heavy with implication. “You were at the gym.”

“Yeah,” Dean said in mild surprise, meeting John’s scrutiny with wide eyes. “Why? What’s going on?”

“I’m just checking,” John replied in the same tone. “I’m allowed to ask my son what he’s been up to, aren’t I?”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“I don’t see no reason to,” John said stoically.

“Enough,” Mary said sharply, but Dean talked over her.

“What does it even matter? Why is it so important to you whether I go throw around weights for a couple of hours? Why does it define my worth to you?”

“Are you talking back to me?” John roared. “You’re doing it because I say so, boy!”

“Why? What difference is it going to make? I’m not magically going to be a better person! I’m not going to be more of the son you want!”

“That’s because you’re not able to be that son,” John said, livid. “You haven’t amounted to anything for all the time I’ve known you, not once.”

_I can’t believe you just said that. Or maybe, I can. That’s worse._

“Enough,” Mary said again, voice shaking this time. “John, stop it.”

“Why? So he can go screw his life over more?”

“He’s seventeen!” Mary cried.

“Old enough to have been someone!” John countered loudly. “He’s a failure, that’s what he is, leeching off what we have!” He rounded on Dean. It kind of reminded him of a shrunk bull, the way his nostrils rippled. “Get your life together, boy, or get out.”

“Excuse me?” Dean sputtered.

“Get. The. Hell. Out.”

Dean stared into the cold, hard eyes of his father- no, he wouldn’t call this man his father, he hated him, he hated him, he was no father- and there was not a trace of a bluff in them, no remorse. He scrambled to his feet, chair scraping behind him.

Sam wasn’t here today, probably laughing over something stupid with his friends, and Dean idly wondered in the back of his mind what they would say to him after Dean left. He was sure John would come up with something creative.

Mary clung to his arm tightly.

“Let go, Mom,” Dean hissed, but she fastened herself to him. “Don’t you dare,” she said in a low voice.

“You’re siding with him?” John said incredulously. “I think it’s high time he doesn’t fail at something for once!”

“You are not casting this boy out of my house for as long as I am here,” Mary warned, each word distinct and resounding. “Dean stays.”

“Then get him out of my sight,” John spat.

“I’ll go myself,” Dean said, but Mary cut across him. “I said you weren’t going anywhere,” she repeated angrily. “You’re going to listen to me, Dean Winchester, and so will your father. This is ridiculous.”

“Look at him, unashamed even now, just taking it,” John muttered, disgusted. “I can’t do this right now.”

_GO THEN! Get out, go to hell, I hate you, I hate you!_

The front door slammed and John Winchester was out of the house.

_Don’t come back._

 

-

 

It’s dinnertime again and I don’t believe I’ve felt this fat in a long, long time. I can feel it dripping off my bones, molding into my skin as my mouth moves, I feel the nausea rise each time I press my lips to the food to get whatever oil I can off before I force it down, I feel like it doesn’t taste like anything. I can’t taste the food. I hate all of this, and I hate myself more than all of it for hating everything and everyone around me. I’m angry at everyone, everyone, Jo and Ash and Meg and Ruby and Rachel, oh my God, Rachel, and Gabriel and my forever-absent shithead of a father and even Dean, why am I angry at Dean?!

And above all of them I am angry at myself, stoked with a burning, passionate hatred that even seems too much. Sometimes I just feel disgusted with every single thing I am, every notion my existence represents. Sometimes I feel numb.

I want to shred my skin.

This body cannot be mine, I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know this strange trap I’m in, I don’t know who I am inside of it, I don’t know what kind of being I am or how old I am or what I’m doing here.

Sometimes I feel too tired to do what I’m supposed to, too lazy, too worthless to just hide what Rachel feeds me. Ditch it afterwards. Sometimes I even dread doing it. I dread avoiding the food but I don’t want it, either. I could do more, I could eat less, and I don’t from time to time and it burns me. I should learn by now to do better, to avoid hurting myself this much. I must be a complete and utter idiot to do this.

I don’t want to recover. I don’t want it, because apparently if I can be this fat at this weight, I won’t be able to live after I do gain.

It’s illogical for me to be this fat, because at this weight I am severely underweight.

I’ve lost weight since Rachel and Gabriel cornered me.

A hundred and eight pounds at six feet is a BMI of 15.12. I’ve checked over and over.

I should be skeletal, I should be dying.

_You are dying._

Not like I should be. I shouldn’t exist. I don’t look skinny; what good does it do?

I can’t eat, I should be sicker, skinnier, better, stronger.

Maybe I’m not even sick after all. Maybe I’m kidding myself. Maybe I’m a fake attention-seeker like Meg says I am. Maybe she’s right about everything.

I can’t feel satisfied with anything anymore. It used to be the hollowness in me that was my trophy; the occasional rumble of my stomach, the emptiness, the knowledge that I would never eat. Before that I felt good when I ate; and I ate far too much. Now I still eat too much, but I find no pleasure in eating, only grounding and terrible guilt. I don’t find satisfaction in fasting, either. I don’t know what I want anymore.

I don’t want to feel anything. I want darkness.

Silence, and nonexistence.

_And Dean?_

I don’t know. I don’t know why I care about him. I’m only sure that I want to make him better, soothe all his troubles and blow them away shaving by shaving, let them flutter in the wind to somewhere far from him. I want him the way I never thought possible.

_Wow, how touching._

_It is,_ I tell Meg solemnly.  _I’ve never felt this way for anyone before and I can’t explain why I feel it for him. Perhaps you're just jealous I don't feel like this for you. That I never did._

_He told you you could never have him whole._

_Yes._ I feel my heart coagulating.  _Not the way I’d like to. I don’t think I ever believed I could, and I don’t think it’s possible to have someone like that. To know every fear, all the things that have happened to them, how they’ve been hurt and how they haven’t. People don’t let others in that far. I don’t let anyone in so far._

_So you’re accepting it?_

_Yes, I am. He isn’t mine, he never was. And of course, he wouldn’t deserve to be shackled to...this thing that I am, but that isn’t even the issue. The real point is that he is his own person and I am mine and I can respect that, because essentially I am not his. I am not defined by my possessions or my possessors because in reality they do not exist._

_You used to be mine,_ Meg says languidly. 

I shake my head.  _I was never yours. You might have poisoned me, Meg, but I was always me._

_You carry me inside your head. What do you call that, Cas? I’m dead and you still haven’t gotten rid of me._

_I thought we were talking about Dean,_ I say stonily.  _And now we’re not._

**bones of my bones and flesh of my flesh**

_Who? Me or him?_

She smirks when I don’t answer.  _Both of us. You can’t let go of either of us now._

I feel isolated, penned in and lost at the same time, I feel like scrubbing off my hair and skin and flesh, I feel contaminated and powerless and at the same time detached and tepid. I feel like pounding my head against a wall until dark, dense blood stains the plaster and gushes from my nose. I feel like grinding it into the ground, plunging it into ice water, whatever it takes to drain this pressure from above my eyes, and pulling out my hair. I don’t want to sleep, I don’t deserve to sleep and even if I do I won’t feel anything good about it. I don’t think I want to breathe anymore.

I don’t taste, I don’t get tired, I don’t sleep.

Every single emotion is pressure. There are no other emotions, no good feelings, no comfort, nothing. There is never any satisfaction.

I don’t think I’m alive anymore.

 

-

 

Cas wasn’t at lunch.

Dean kept glancing around tensely, hands clenched around the cup of yogurt he’d specially requested, and he still wasn’t coming. Jo and Ash were infuriatingly oblivious, neither of them asking for the boy beyond an initial ‘so where’s that friend of yours?’ and a few distributed half-shrugs. Dean wasn’t even sure why he was annoyed by it; Cas had joined them a grand total of two times and they could hardly be expected to pine after him in his absence.

_I thought he was getting better._

“Dean, you okay?” Jo asked uncertainly as Dean crumpled his napkin into a ball ferociously and dumped it onto the frankly disgusting and coagulating mound of mac and cheese they had been served.

“Okay? Why wouldn’t I be okay?” he said through his teeth.

“Well, I don’t remember you joining the Napkin Nazis,” Ash said levelly. Dean glared at him.

“You’ve been weird lately,” Jo added. “Like, there’s something wrong but you aren’t telling and it’s like...you’re trapped behind a glass case, if that makes any sense. You come around with a random half-dead boy in the middle of the night- shut up, Ash- and he shows up at our table two weeks later. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t even really eat, and then he’s just gone again. You grow snappier each day.” She looked at Dean earnestly. “We’re worried.”

“I’m fine,” Dean insisted. “Cas just has a few issues, that’s all. And as for you guys, I’m sorry, I should be more sensitive. I’ve just been kind of stressed lately.”

Jo wasn’t buying it.

“With what?”

_Do you have to know EVERYTHING?_

“I live with John Winchester,” he said darkly. “What do you think?”

“Oh,” Ash said simply. They had both known John for a long enough time to know what that meant.

Or not. Dean hadn’t even guessed it could mean something like this.

And Jo was entirely too perceptive, because she immediately squinted at him in that unique Harvelle way of hers and said, “What did he do?”

“What does he ever do?” Dean said cryptically. “He sucked at being a father.”

“No, there’s something different this time,” Jo said with a shake of her head. They were both listening intently, all thoughts of food forgotten. “How bad is it?”

Dean forced himself not to snap again. He breathed deeply and exhaled, imagining smoke issuing from his mouth as he blew, calm.

“He almost threw me out,” he said, meeting their gaze. Jo looked scandalized. Ash just seemed disoriented, like he hadn’t even thought that was an option.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hissed, slamming a hand on the table so loudly a group of giggling freshmen nearby jumped in their seats and proceeded to try to give them the stink eye. They quickly aborted the mission at the close contact of Jo’s gaze, which was truthfully frightening. Dean didn’t even glance their way. “Is he fucking KIDDING?” she continued with no lessened amount of venom, looking from Ash to Dean in fevered disbelief. “Why the fuck would he do that?”

“Because I’m not enough,” Dean said wearily, and he felt an incredible resignation in himself to that simple fact. “And I’ll never be enough for him, nothing more than a disappointment.”

“BULLSHIT,” Jo stated, hard. “He’s an asshole, ugh, I don’t know how to get this across, but, Dean, he’s absolute shit and you can’t listen to him. Please don’t listen to him.”

“He’s always been fucked up, man,” Ash agreed. “We just hadn’t realized how much.”

“You’re still at home, right?” Jo suddenly asked anxiously, like the real meaning of Dean’s words had only just struck. “Please tell me he didn’t kick you out. You’re good, right? You’ve got a place to stay and everything?”

“Yeah,” Dean assured her. “Mom stepped in at the right moment. It ended up being Dad who stormed off. I didn’t see him this morning.”

“He can go fuck himself,” Ash decreed. Jo was still fuming.

“Mom would whup his ass,” she said contemplatively. “I really hope yours gives him half what he deserves for this.”

“Why half?” Ash asked curiously.

“Because full would include beating him with a broom and I don’t really think Mrs. Winchester should go into domestic violence just yet,” she answered grimly.

Dean chuckled for not much reason as an image of Mary beating John with a long-handled broom flitted across his mind. Ash shook his head over and over like he still couldn’t wrap it around what had happened, and soon enough he articulated that specific thought. Jo met his question, much to Dean’s relief.

“John is a complete and utter bastard,” she said simply. “There’s not much else to philosophize about it, Ash. And I am ultra pissed at the fact that he exists right now.”

_Wait till I tell Cas. I wonder just what he’ll say._

_If he cares this much._

Dean agreed wholeheartedly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Specialist.  
> The catatonic sex-toy love-joy diver is a line from Stella Was A Diver And She Was Always Down by Interpol.


	25. you could say I gave you my edge

 

Castiel, it turned out, was not amused.

“WHAT?” he almost shrieked, eyeballs bulging. “He can’t do that!”

“He did.”

“Fuck that,” Cas said in disgust. “He’s not allowed to do that. He- how could he even-”

“I’m never going to be enough for him,” Dean divulged. “Not as long as I’m me.”

“You don’t need to be enough for him,” Cas declared. “You don’t ever need to meet anyone’s expectations and definitely not his.”

“No, I do,” Dean insisted. “That’s the whole point, don’t you get it? I’ve got to or I’m out of the picture. I _am_ a failure.”

“Stop saying that!” He looked like he would very much enjoy to shake Dean properly to air some sense into him. “You, Dean Winchester, are so much more than that and I HATE him for this, I hate him, god!” He exhaled loudly through his mouth. “You deserve so much better people in your life. We’re all damaged and we damage you, every single one of us, and we shouldn’t, the people around you shouldn’t; you should have been with good people instead of being stuck with us shits. I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with us. I’m so, so sorry you ever met that boy you dated, or you have such an ass for a dad, or out of anyone you could have had, all the alternatives, you ended up with me.”

_No, no, no, Cas, it’s not supposed to be about this anymore._

“You’re the only good thing on that list,” Dean argued vehemently. “The only one I don’t regret-”

“-yet-”

“Don’t make this about you! Please don’t make it about you, Cas, it’s not you. This is me and I don’t think anyone can ever change that, and I told you before. I don’t believe anyone ever will be able to make me see something else in myself, but you’ve helped, I swear you’ve helped. I can never be pure and whole and yours- let me fucking finish, Cas, or I’ll –but you’ve helped me more than I could have thought and I’m thankful I ever met you. I told you I was broken; I don’t care if you are too.”

Cas pressed his lips together. The familiar coat of guilt brushed over Dean’s heart at the resigned rejection on his face, and ideally he would have liked to just kiss him and fix everything but things didn’t work out that way.

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmured finally.

_No! Stop apologizing for my fuckups!_

“Don’t be,” Dean managed.

Cas teetered for a moment- there was no other word for the way he hesitated, almost gravitated between moving forward towards Dean and staying in remote isolation- and then stepped forward. He wrapped his arms excruciatingly tentatively around Dean’s middle-

_Am I really so cold, Castiel?_ he thought sadly.  _I am so sorry I can’t be more for you._

\- then squeezed gently, hands creeping up to Dean’s shoulder blades. Dean could feel his breath on his chest, far too cold and irregular, and every knob of the boy’s spine, the tendons in his back; the muscles moving under the clothes, ribs and peaking shoulder blades -that really earned the name- and even the crests of his pelvis.

It frightened him.

He kept silent.

 

-

 

“Have you seen his arms?”

Something spoons out my heart.

“Yes, Gabriel, I’ve seen his arms. He’s eating, you saw him eat his breakfast yourself!”

“Then he’s not eating enough, Mom. You only see the input, which is breakfast and whenever you can it’s dinner. I’m telling you the output, which is that this-” he indicates me- “is not normal. He’s doing something, or NOT doing it, and he’s playing you.”

“What do you want me to do?” she says, voice hurt.

“Intervene!”

No, please, God, no. This isn’t supposed to happen, it’s not supposed to happen, not ever, it’s one of my nightmares.

One of the nightmares I wake up thrashing from and clench my teeth in wide-eyed terror to keep from screaming, bury my head into my pillow and plead  _no_ over and over again until I knock myself out but I’m never safe. I’m never, ever really safe.

The nightmares that make me want to throw my stomach lining up or maybe gouge my eyes out or just burn myself to cinders, because nonexistence would be better than this.

“You wanted him to have something wholesome for breakfast, he had eggs. He had a whole egg and his bread and his cheese. He’s eating twice what I eat.”

I am?

_Shut up, Castiel._ Ana’s rigid.  _Just don’t let them up your intake more._

I don’t want to eat.

I don’t want to be full, don’t ever ever ever let me eat, I should always be starving, please don’t make me eat, I’m going to throw up

(except I can’t because I’m weak)

God, I’m sorry, what did I do?

Please carve out my stomach

I hate you, I hate you, why? Why, Gabriel? Fuck this, WHY?

You’re going to make me kill myself.

_I knew you’d get here,_ Meg says dully. 

No, Cas, no. It’s going to change. Don’t you dare try that, it will change. This is not forever. This is not permanent.

“Do you check his sleeves? Is he hiding food or something?”

“Jesus Christ, Gabe,” Rachel says, bunching her hair in her hands. It makes me want to scratch my arms until the skin flakes off and I draw blood.

_Empty threats, you’re not brave enough to do shit._

_You wouldn’t dare._

<fingernails digging into flesh as I pant in the darkness, terror pounding through my veins and it’s getting real now>

NO!

“Castiel!” Gabriel barks.

I hold my breath. I don’t know what to do.

“Come here, we’re in the kitchen.”

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you, every single cell and nerve, I hate you. Just please go away. Why do you keep on existing?

_You’re going to regret thinking this._

I don’t give a flying FUCK.

Rachel looks shaken. Gabriel is fuming.

<I should be tiny, I should be starving. I should be dead. I should be DEAD!>

“Castiel, are you eating?”

“Yes!” I say exasperatedly. “I-”

“Don’t lie.”

“I am, I’m eating, I’m eating more than ever!” I sound like a whiny child.

“Liar,” he says. I hate him, I hate every single one of them. I hate everyone, I hate EVERYONE.

I hate me most of all.

“Go to school. Starting today you’re eating even more, you need to gain weight and I don’t care what you think. Now, OUT.”

I look at him dumbstruck, comprehension burning through me, scorching me.

No PLEASE, oh god, no, this is my nightmare, this is my nightmare, this is a nightmare.

It’s come true.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's The New.


	26. can't you hurt it some

 

The bathroom door swung open with a bang, and Dean almost jumped out of his skin as a blue-eyed beacon of distress ghosted in, face papery and crumpled.

“Cas?” he said anxiously, bile rising up his throat. This was wrong. Something wrong was going on. No, he hadn't wanted this, Cas, please-

“Dean,” the boy commented vaguely, and then he was in Dean's arms again, shaking with ragged, panicked breaths.

“They're going to kill me,” he moaned. “They're killing me, it's killing me, Dean-”

“What's killing you?” Dean asked urgently, resisting the urge to shake Castiel with fervor.

“Everything!”

It was a scream and a sob at the same time. Cas was dying in his arms and Dean couldn't do anything. He swallowed, his heart compressed into a tiny nodule of fear.

“Cas,” he pled, trying to catch his eyes. The other boy was trembling so uncontrollably that Dean considered taking him to the nurse's office or something, something to make him better-

“I'M DYING,” Cas said. “I'm dying, this is my nightmare, this is my nightmare, it's my nightmare-”

“Cas, shhh,” Dean begged as gently as he could. “I'm gonna lock the door and you're gonna tell me all about it, okay?”

“You're going to miss class,” Cas objected quietly, as though the words stuck on his tongue.

“Screw class,” Dean said impatiently. “I'm here, baby. I'm here, okay?”

He shushed Cas again and hurried to bolt the door. When he returned, he found Castiel crumpled up under the blow dryer like a tissue. The anguish in his eyes made Dean wish for the apathy he'd hated so much.

“Cas,” he repeated timidly. “Tell me.”

“I have nightmares.” Cas spoke in a whisper. “I have nightmares where my mother cooks me oatmeal and pasta and steaks, and I'm supposed to eat them all and I do, I feel the calories dripping into my veins, I feel the fat festering on my face, I have to do so much exercise to get rid of it-! I wake up shaking, Dean, I scream into my pillow. I scratch my skin raw. I kept on retching once and I couldn't stop. I'm terrified. I'm terrified. I don't know what to do.”

Dean didn't know either. He felt sick.

“And now they're going to make me. They're going to make me eat it. They're so mad, mom and Gabe. I hate them so much.” He coughed violently. “I hate them. I hate them!”

”Cas,” Dean said helplessly. “I'm so..I'm so sorry.”

_Useless, Winchester. Absolutely useless._

“I could kill him, Dean,” Cas mumbled. His lips were blue. “I'm scared, Dean, I shouldn't be this violent, I shouldn't- shouldn't imagine strangling- ” He choked on his breath, or maybe it was the words that couldn't pass his lips that blocked him, but they both heard what he meant. They both knew the implications.

“Don't say that,” Dean said, struggling to keep it as far from a reprimand as possible, but he didn't like it. He wanted to snap at Castiel for being like this, and he wanted to kiss him until they both couldn't breathe, and he wanted to make everything all right at once, and he just couldn't.

Cas stared at him. His eyes were wide and guilty.

“I'm terrible,” he stated, as dully as he could. “You don't have to hear this or stay with me, now you know what I'm like. You don't even know all of it.”

“Cas, STOP!” Dean couldn't do this anymore. Not anymore. “I'm not angry when you tell me what you feel. I'm NOT, don't look at me like that. But when you start moaning about how I should leave you-”

“That's also something I feel!” Cas said, hurt and loud. “I told you it wasn't going away, Dean, it might never go away, and it's not good. I know it isn't and so do you!”

“You're going to be better now,” Dean said brusquely. “Just eat more, it'll do you good, and this is so fucking stupid anyway.”

Cas looked so betrayed that Dean instantly regretted his words.

“Cas-” he started again, but Castiel wasn't available at the moment. He stared down at his feet and hugged himself, his arms wrapped around his bony torso, and spoke in what sounded like the calmest voice he could muster.

“Okay,” he said. “Please leave.”

“No,” Dean protested, but Cas lifted his head and looked at him in the most furious look he'd ever seen on him.

“Out,” he said, voice breaking on the middle vowel. “Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Me.”

Dean hesitated.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered before leaving. It almost felt as if Cas was still watching him as he swung through the door and left.

 

-

 

_Why? Why would he do this?_ I want to sob so much.  _He knew what I felt. He knew how bad it was, and he still said those things. He doesn't care._

_Why do I love him?_

_Why can't he love me?_

**That's not a very hard question,** Meg says.  **You're disgusting enough to scare away anyone.**

I slam my head against one of the stall doors.  _SHUT UP!_

The speakers crackle to life.

“Attention, please. Would Castiel Novak please report to the principal's office? Castiel Novak?”

** What the fuck did you do?  ** Ana hisses, rounding on me.  ** What do they want? What's wrong? What happened? **

_Am I found out?_

** Don't be ridiculous,  ** Meg snaps. She looks tense.  ** Get your fucking useless ass down there before they realize you're not anywhere close. **

I propel myself out of the bathroom and the glare of sunlight hurts my eyes. I throw myself down the hallways and push myself up the stairs. I don't know if I'm actually doing it. I feel muffled again, and under that, completely terrified.

_Maybe Rachel's found my blades._

I stagger through the office door and the secretary looks up.

“Castiel?” she asks uncomfortably. Her eyes are tinged with something that doesn't make sense, and they're staring way too hard at me.

_They all know._

“Mr. Fitzgerald's in there,” she says, gesturing towards the second door. “Go right in.”

This is all wrong. It's all wrong. No.

“Castiel Novak, right?”

The principal motions for me to sit down. I swallow and do as he says. My foot automatically starts tapping incessantly.

“Uh.” He looks so on edge it's making me scream inside. “Well. Something....happened, ah, today, that you should know.”

I stare at the fucking cheapo plaque with his name on it. Garth Fitzgerald. All low-quality pen and polished gold-colored metal. Fuckers.

“We totally understand if you need to take leave for a few days. To...gather your thoughts.”

Fuck.

“It's your brother.”

NO

IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN THIS WAY

OH MY FUCKING GOD

“He was in a car accident today.”

NO

“He's in hospital right now.”

NO

“Your mother's there right now. Perhaps you'd prefer to stay at home until she returns?” He hesitates.

NO

“There hasn't been any updates on his situation.”

NO

My heart pounds and pounds and a thought rises above all the others, rising like it's being blown like a balloon into my chest cavity, burning my ribs.

**It's all your fault.**

 


	27. I'll come around when you're down

Castiel was standing in the middle of the room, shivering endlessly with his chest and back bare. His ribs stuck out, sharp hipbones casting shadows onto his sunken stomach. Dean randomly thought that a clothes hanger could attach his suit onto those collarbones. The knobs of spine traveling down his back were almost like rocks stuffed under a thin layer of skin.

“Cas!” he whispered, poking his head farther through the window. Castiel turned softly to look at him. He was blank again.

Dean heaved himself inside with a huff.

“You're going to freeze,” he said as lightly as he could, shutting the window behind him.

Castiel didn't answer.

“Come on,” Dean said, taking Cas' arm as gently as possible. He found a white shirt crumpled on the floor and tried to coax him into it to no avail; Cas whimpered and pushed Dean away. He wrapped his arms around his middle again and squeezed, like there was something fighting out of his ribcage and he was barely keeping it in.

“You never came through the window before,” he muttered.

“Cas,” Dean said again.

They both stopped for a moment, silently considering, or at least that was what Dean was doing. Cas simply seemed to be freezing defiantly.

Dean stripped off his leather jacket, peeled off his layers until his chest was naked as well.

“What are you doing?” Cas mumbled.

Dean didn't answer. He moved forward, as slowly as he could, as if Cas was a wild animal he had to approach with caution, and laid his hand on Cas' shoulder.

Cas stiffened for a moment, then raised his own to Dean's upper left arm. He held it tightly, and Dean was almost sure there was a red mark there when he took it down, lips drawn into a line.

“I'm sorry,” Dean said. “I am so sorry, Cas. I shouldn't ever have said that.”

“You shouldn't have,” Cas said stonily. “You don't know what you did.”

“I don't.” Dean caught his gaze as well as he could. “I am so, very very very sorry, Castiel Novak. I never meant to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

“You did,” he said.

“I would never mean to,” Dean amended.

“What did you mean, then? You didn't say those words? Some other power made you speak them?”

“Tell me what I can do,” Dean said uselessly.

“I don't know,” Cas shook his head. “I don't know.”

Dean bit his lip.

“You could hold me,” Cas suggested evenly after a while.

 

-

 

“This is a stupid question,” Dean says, his mouth moving in my hair, “but it seems like there's something...more wrong than there was.”

“It is a stupid question,” I sigh. My fingers trace his arms, encircling my body, his feet tangled with mine. “My life never gets better.”

“Tell me,” Dean says.

I breathe into my sheets. They smell like Tide and salt.

“Gabe,” I begin.

“Did he dick around again?” Dean says coldly.

“No,” I say. “He might be dead.”

Dean's muscles clench and he turns me around to face him, instead of being my bigger spoon. “How do you- what do you mean, Cas? You didn't-”

“Jesus, no!” I feel affronted, but it's not his fault. It's mine. Didn't I want him dead?

“He was in a traffic accident,” I specify. “He's in hospital now.”

“I'm so sorry, Cas,” Dean says. His eyes are so beautiful. It's easier to focus on them than what he's saying, so I decide to do exactly that.

“It's my fault,” I whisper. “I wanted revenge and this happened. I did all of it.”

“Bullshit,' Dean answers. “You make me so angry sometimes, you know?”

“Same goes for you,” I mutter, but I'm annoyed with myself. I don't want to make him angry. I don't know what to do. Everything I say is me, and it's true. If I make him angry, how can I expect him to tolerate me?

“You are one of the best things that happened to me,” he continues. “If you ever say that again, I won't do anything because I'll still care for you. I care for you. But I'll be angry, because underneath the anger I'll feel helpless, and I don't like being helpless. I don't like the fact that you don't know what you are.”

I lean in and kiss his chin. I don't know what to say and it doesn't matter.

His lips move on my forehead, then trail down to my nose and find my lips. I press my hands to his shoulder blades and the tendons that attach the muscles of his arms to his bones.

I like it.

Everything is black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Untitled.


	28. her rabid glow is like braille to the night

 

“Where the hell were you?” John shouted. The veins on his temple twitched. Mary stood behind him, silent disappointment written across her face.

“I was at the hospital,” Dean answered as evenly as he could. “I'm okay,” he added quickly, before Mary worried even more about him. “I was there because a friend of mine blacked out in his bedroom and I had to-”

“His bedroom?!”

“-take care of him,” Dean finished, ignoring John's outburst.

“Why the fuck were you in his bedroom?”

“His brother was in a terrible traffic accident, and he needed my support,” Dean explained.

Mary shook her head, almost like Cas had earlier that day. “Then...Why wouldn't you tell us where you were, Dean?”

Dean looked at her as apologetically as he could. He'd fucked up a lot today, but the decision to console Cas was as far from a fuckup as possible. He wasn't sorry for it; he simply regretted worrying his mother. John resembled a bullfrog as he actually swelled with anger.

“I knew you were no good!” he burst out. “Sneaking behind our backs, huh? Doing whatever you think is right? It's all bullshit, isn't it, what you just told us? Bullshit. I bet you were gettin' high on some shit with that fucking friend, weren't you? Smokin' whatever shit you smoke on some deadbeat's floor?”

“STOP,” Dean said forcefully. “I have been with him all this time, yes. No, I was NOT doing drugs,” he added, as Mary opened her mouth to speak.

“Then what the fuck were you doing, huh?”

“Well, a lot of things,” Dean replied casually. “You see, he's my boyfriend.”

“You were whoring around with some faggot?” John roared. “You complete -”

“I was not whoring around with anyone!” Dean snapped. “You wouldn't give a shit-”

“-don't you dare swear in front of me-”

“-if it was a girl!” Dean went on loudly. “I haven't even fucking slept with him!”

“Oh, ho ho ho,” John laughed. “Just hear him talk, will you? Slept with him. Like that's any kind of redemption!”

“I am in a relationship with a boy!” Dean shouted. “A boy. Is that such a wrong thing, Dad? I like him. He makes me happier. I like being happy, all right?”

“Shut up,” John growled. “Just shut the fuck up-”

“John,” Mary interrupted. “I want to listen to him.”

John looked scandalized.

“Tell me about him,” she told Dean coldly.

“Uh, okay,” Dean said lamely. “His- his name's Cas. Castiel. He's sixteen and a bit shorter than I am. He's really good at drawing, he's shown me a few and I love them. He's also good at chemistry, and he reads a lot and likes good music. He's the strongest person I've ever seen. He's got the bluest eyes, too, you'd love them. He's got the rarest smile and he moves with this kind of grace that makes him look fluid sometimes, even when he's awkward. His voice is the kind of voice that you could listen to for ages, that could make a vacuum cleaner interesting. He's... he's beautiful.”

John snorted derisively. Mary looked up at him.

“There's nothing much to do,” she said with a sigh.

He looked down at his wife, then back to his son, and took the deepest breath. “Fine,” he said gruffly, before turning on his heel to walk away. “You're still fucking grounded.”

_This isn't possible._

_It's happening._

Inside Dean's chest hatched a small period of grace.

 

-

 

I wake up to whiteness. A stiff pillow and crispy sheets. A sterile feeling in the hair, murmuring in the background.

Jesus. I'm in a hospital.

**No** , Meg says in alarm.  **Cas, go back to sleep. They're going to weigh you, feed you, you'll get strapped to an IV, shipped off to inpatient, you-**

_Fuck you, Meg,_ I say. She stares at me in shock.

**You absolute idiot. You want to get fat, yes? Fat like a fucking pig?**

_What do you care, Meg? Why would you do this to me?_

**So you could be better! Stronger! Thinner! So you could deserve something!**

_So I could be dead,_ I correct her. _Because that's what you turned me into- that's what WE turned me into._

**Castiel-**

_You aren't real. You died, and you're rotting in your grave, and I don't give two shits what happens to you anymore._

**You're dead,** she hisses.

_I'm not going to be dead._

**Fat is worse than dead.**

_I'm going to disagree sometime._

**You agree now.**

_It's called being sick._

**It's called being better.**

_You're poison,_ I spit.  _A parasite, Meg. You and Ana and Mia, you're parasites, feeding off me, feeding off what I am._

**You don't really want to let go.**

_No, I don't._

**We're safe,** she says.

_Yes, you are_ , I agree.  _You're familiar and easy, and comfortable, and you're killing me._

Meg scoffs.  **What are you going to do?**

_I'm going to tell someone._

Ana wails and Meg wails and my head is exploding with the sound and the pain, the pain-

“Cas?”

Rachel walks in. She looks drained. I want to cry.

“Mom,” I say. She makes a beeline for me, her steps imbalanced.

“Gabe?” I ask quickly.

“He's okay,” she sobs. “He's going to be okay. He's okay. He's okay.”

I hug her, and her tears wet my shoulder. I shiver in spite of myself.

_Maybe this isn't the best time,_ Meg suggests.

“I've got to tell you something,” I say. Quick, before they sew my mouth shut.

“What?” she says anxiously.

I swallow.

**STOP.**

How do I say this?

**You don't.**

How do I talk?

**Shut up.**

“I've got a restrictive eating disorder,” I tell her.

“What?” she says blankly.

“Anorexia. I'm anorexic.”

“So what, you throw up what you eat?”

Sometimes.

“That's bulimia,” I say. “I just don't eat-”

“You're a boy,” she objects. “Boys don't get those diseases.”

“They do!” I say, hurt. “Mom, it's a serious mental-”

“No, it's not!” She's shaking. “Have you been lying to me all this time? All of it? This- this self-diagnosis bullshit- Anorexic people die, they end up in hospitals with needles in their arms!”

“Look around you!” I say loudly. “We're in a hospital because I blacked out! Guess why? I hadn't eaten in two days!”

She stops. She reminds me of a puppet, with its strings snapped, swinging aimlessly and disoriented.

“It's not about you,” I say empathically.

“How could- how could I not have known? I'm a terrible mother!”

“It is not YOUR FAULT. Mom, just STOP.”

“Don't you dare tell me what to do!” she screeches. “You liar!”

And she resumes crying.

“Mom, please! It's not you, I promise, I- It's just-”

“What? You were physically unable to eat or something? What, Cas? How can someone eat like a normal person at breakfast and dinner and then what? It's a choice, it's a conscious choice and you wrecked it all, you wrecked it-”

How can I tell her about the times when I struggled to bring the fork to my mouth and simply couldn't?

_Why don't you just kill me instead, mother?_

“I'll tell the doctor,” I say, almost to myself. “I'll tell the doctor. Please.”

“You played me,” she sobs.

“It was not YOU! Mom, just please-”

“Is everything all right here?”

A redheaded woman peers inside nervously. She's wearing a white coat.

PLEASE BE THE DOCTOR, I think ferociously.

Please tell her what's wrong.

“No, it isn't,” I say, latching onto her like a lifeline. She steps into the room with a frown.

“Castiel...Novak?” she says, looking at her clipboard. I nod enthusiastically.

“You're my patient,” she smiles. “I'm Charlie. You feeling any better?”

“A little better.” I pause. “You should know. I. I, uh, I've got. An eating disorder. Uh.”

Wow. Smooth.

“That's what he says,” Rachel mutters. Charlie looks displeased.

“I can't diagnose you off the top of my head,” she admits. “You need to be weighed, talk to a psychiatrist. They've got excellent facilities for things like that, I hear, but the one here is real good as well. Dr. Baum.” She smiles slightly. “She's very proficient at her job. But, really, why do you think so?”

“I have trouble with eating.” I breathe. “And fat. I'm terrified of gaining fat. I feel extreme guilt after eating.” I breathe. “I can't stop thinking about food and fat and mealtimes. I can't stand being full.” I breathe. “I'm always cold. I can't look in the mirror. I can't touch myself.” I breathe. “Food makes me so anxious, you can't believe it, I can't take it. I can't take eating. I never want to eat. I always want to eat. I hate eating.” I breathe. “I don't want food in me. When I do, I feel polluted. I can never be satisfied.” I breathe.

Rachel's frozen. Charlie's grim. Her smile's receded.

“I'm sorry,” she says earnestly. “I really am, and it was so brave of you to tell us. I'll organize for you to meet with Dr. Baum sometime this afternoon, okay? You can be weighed while you wait. We'll see how much you have to gain, yeah?”

I nod vigorously. She gives me a reassuring half-smile and slips out of the room.

“I'm sorry,” I tell my mother. “I am so sorry. Please, Mom. Please forgive me. Please. I can't do this when you're like this. Please.” She's crying and I want to cry so damn much. “Please,” I say over and over again, and she moves closer and hugs me. I'm hugging my mother.

“Forgive me,” I sniffle. I am so pathetic.

“Don't worry now,” she says. “Come on. Shhh.”

“Forgive me,” I insist. “Mom. Please. I'm sorry.”

“I do,” she says. “Cas. Stop crying.”

“You stop crying,” I counter.

“Let's both stop crying,” she suggests wetly.

I breathe. I nod.

I'm going to live.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Leif Erikson.


	29. the angels remark outside

 

Charlie returns afterwards, graciously not commenting on my demeanor. “They're ready.”

I breathe. “Okay.”

She waits as I follow her. The corridor is so very thankfully deserted.

“In here,” she says, pointing to a plain door on my left.

Ana is strangely silent.

I'm so scared.

We go in. I am so very scared. Rachel is right behind us, and I can hear her breathing.

“Hi,” says a nurse. I focus on her black hair. I focus on her name tag, and the pleasant scrawl that spells out Tessa. I focus on anything but the scale.

“Just step here,” she says cheerily. “Shoes off, please.”

I step onto the cold metal.

112 Ibs, the screen blinks. Tessa inputs the results into a machine.

Fuck my life.

“Hold these,” she says, giving me two handpieces. “And stay still.”

I do as she says. I wait as it gives me a body scan. I hate it.

“Do you know how tall you are?” she asks after it's done.

“Six feet,” I say uncertainly. She nods and types it in. The results whir onto a page and print out.

I am still defined by numbers. There is no escape.

Charlie takes the paper and surveys it seriously.

“Bad?” I guess.

“You're severely underweight,” she says, looking at me. “BMI 15.10...risk of violent heart attacks, I'm surprised at how strong you are. You've lost a lot of muscle and your fat percentage is down. It's nothing that can't be fixed,” she promises Rachel. “I'm more worried about the mental facet. His metabolism's fine, it's very good he told us now.” She winks at me. “We can beat it.”

I am not sick enough.

I don't want to get better.

I'm still going to.

“Dr. Baum's cleared this afternoon for you,” she goes on. “Until then, you can read or maybe talk to your mother?”

“Can I-” I hesitate. “Can I see Gabriel? My brother?”

“Why wouldn't you?” she says, confused.

Rachel looks faint.

“He was in a car accident,” I confess guiltily. And it was my fault.

“Oh,” she says suddenly. “Gabriel Novak- Yeah, okay. I'll check. You know they said he'd be fine, though?”

“Yeah, I do.”

She gives me a gentle look. “Wait in your room until I come get you.”

I'm going to be fat. So fat.

Dean won't want me. Nobody will want me.

What am I actually doing?

Is this real? Is this, fully, real?

My room is cold.

I want to make everything all right. Rachel isn't all right.

“I'm sorry,” I repeat. “I'm sorry, mom, but it'll go. I'm going to beat it. It's going to take a long time but I'll try. Please, I-”

“Stop apologizing,” she sniffs. She looks me in the eyes then, finaly, and sets her jaw. “You are the most precious thing that can exist on this earth for me,” she says soberly. “I love you. I love everything about you. This is not you, this cardboard cutout of a boy. I love you.”

Fuck, I think I'm about to cry again.

“It was that girl,” she says, and the fury in her voice is frightening.

“Yes,” I admit quietly. She's never looked so hateful.

“I would make her pay,” she swears. “I would make her pay.”

“She's dead,” I remind her.

She's staying dead.

 

-

 

“Who is that boy, Cas?”

There's really only one boy she could mean.

“He's Dean,” I say. “He's Dean Winchester.”

“And what is Dean Winchester to you?” she probes.

I honestly don't know. I want him to be mine. I want me to be his, in so many different ways. I've ensured it won't happen this way and it's making me feel like I'm being suffocated.

“I'll get back to you on that,” I promise.

Charlie spares me the trouble of elaborating further.

“He's okay to see you,” she informs me lightly. “I've got a few other things to do, so you're going to go down to his ward with Lenore. She's off shift and she said she was okay with helping you.”

“Thank you,” I say truthfully.

I'm holding on to whatever I can, now my strongest grip on sanity is gone.

It was insanity.

**It is reality. You're never getting rid of it.**

Lenore turns out to be a calm nurse with mousy hair. She doesn't talk to me. I don't know what to feel; right now I am totally lost. Like I've missed a step on the stairs just to find all the other steps are also missing, and there's only a hole for me to fall into.

Gabriel's lying on his back, eyes half-open. He opens them fully when we come into view.

“Cas,” he says. “Hey, buddy.” He looks sheepish and almost guilty. I get it, but the expression shouldn't be on his face.

“I'll give you some privacy,” Lenore says. Rachel turns to me.

“Would you like me to talk with him first?” she offers in a low voice.

Yes, fuck yes. It'd be so much easier.

I know what I must do.

“No, thanks,” I tell her. She nods and follows Lenore out the door.

“Gabriel,” I start. What do I say?

“Look,” he sighs after a moment, “I-”

“No,” I interrupt. “Gabe, you were right.”

He blinks.

“Today I asked for help with my eating disorder,” I say, every word clear and taking turns getting stuck in my throat.

“What's that mean?” he says confusedly.

I can't tell him everything like this. Not right now, not in this space of time. But there will be time to do it. A lifetime for me to live.

“I'm going to live,” I tell him, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth for the first time in what feels like forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Pace is the Trick by Interpol.


	30. celebrate the myriad ways that I love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of may our bodies remain. If you chose to stick with this fic, thank you very much- Cas and I are gonna live, and life is good.

 

“Hey,” Dean said, smiling at Cas. “Morning, sunshine.”

Cas groaned, stretching languidly. It took him a few moments to recognize-

“Dean?” he said in disbelief, sitting up. “Dean! You're here!”

“Of course I am,” Dean said, laughing softly. “You went out in my arms, angel. I kinda get to be responsible.” He stroked Cas' hair. “Plus, I just can't seem to get away from you.”

“Dean,” Cas said. “I'm going to be different.”

Dean kissed him. “You're going to be better.”

“I'm going to be ugly.”

Dean kissed him. “You're going to be gorgeous.”

“You won't like me anymore.”

Dean kissed him. “I love you.”

Cas drew in a sharp breath. Dean didn't seem to believe that he'd just said it either, but he flashed Castiel a crooked grin and landed a kiss on his forehead. “I love you,” he repeated. “I love you so much you scare me. I love you the way it rains; violently and gently at the same time, and I love you like I have never loved before.”

Cas was crying.

“What's wrong?” Dean asked, something scratching the inside of his liver.

Cas smiled like he had never smiled before.

“Nothing's wrong,” he said. “It's just that I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from Interpol's Slow Hands.  
> -  
> I actually think this fic is special for me, because no one actually saves Cas. The decision to recover is his, and I like to think he would've done the same if it hadn't ever been for Dean. The same applies to Dean; he chooses to come out to his parents and take action, and they both have their lives described in the fic- not just a love story.  
> Choose recovery. It's nice to live, sweetheart.


End file.
